


New Year, Same Habit (Not Over You)

by Ladyjenwen84



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 30-Somethings, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Background Relationships, Breaking Up & Making Up, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie & Loki Friendship (Marvel), Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Cover Art, Digital Art, Drama & Romance, Drinking, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Smut, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Explicit Language, Fake Instagram, Famous loki, Fireworks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen X references, Heartache, I Just Can't With Him, I Made Myself Cry, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Music, Kissing, Logyn - Freeform, Loki & Thor Bro Feels (Marvel), Loki Feels, Loki Is Too Perfect, Loki and Bucky are friends, Loki’s POV, Love, Love/Hate, Mentioned Stephen Strange - Freeform, Minor Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Minor Carol Danvers/Valkyrie, Minor Character(s), Minor Relationships, Mood Disorder, Multi, Music, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Year’s Eve 2020, New York City, Nirvana (Band) References, Novel Length, Party, Post-Break Up, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychiatrist Hela (marvel), Real music artists mentioned, References to Drugs, Rich Loki, Romantic Loki (Marvel), Set in 2019-2020, Sexual Content, Sigyn Feels, Sigyn Is My Girl, Sigyn's POV, Slow Build, To Loki, WinterShock - Freeform, Worth It, Writer Loki, Xennials, fake tweets, mentioned Tony Stark, pre-coronavirus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 113,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyjenwen84/pseuds/Ladyjenwen84
Summary: **COMPLETED ON NEW YEARS DAY 2021!** “I know you miss him,” Darcy said, squeezing her shoulder, “and I totally get needing time to grieve over the loss of a relationship, but maybe you can take one night off from the self-flagellation.  I mean, look at you.” She waved a hand up and down the length of her friend. “You listen to me Sigyn Frey, you are a TEN, and there are, like, a 1000 guys in this room alone who would kill for a shot with you.  I’m not saying you need to find a replacement boyfriend, just a quick casual thing for fun.  Remember fun?  That thing you used to know how to do?”*****************************New Years Eve 2019. A party at STRANGE- a restaurant on 325 W. Broadway, a few blocks south of her apartment on the lower west side. her friends were here, with great music and dancing, and she SHOULD be able to find something to smile about, but she shouldn't have come here. Not without Loki, because not getting a kiss (and more) from her ex who she was still VERY much in love with at midnight was just too much. She was going home to drink herself to sleep before 12am, and when she woke up, it would be a new year, and it wouldn't matter. He would still be gone, and she would be just as devastated...
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Carol Danvers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Loki/Sigyn
Comments: 170
Kudos: 41





	1. We're Just Strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DevilishDoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishDoll/gifts), [Mischief76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischief76/gifts), [SweetSigyn (ferbette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbette/gifts), [OhTheObsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhTheObsessions/gifts), [maite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maite/gifts).



> Very quickly, let me say something, since I'm kind of going out on a limb here- I was kind of scared to “gift” a work to specific readers. I kept thinking “oh god, what if they hate it?-what if they think it’s a waste of time?” but ultimately, the point is this: you all are amazing, and you deserve a thank you for being so goddamn loyal to my Frigid Immortals Loki/Sigyn Trilogy. Now, I'm not making any promises as to how much you all will like “New Year”, but I do at least know that all five of you love Loki and Sigyn. It won't be more than a few chapters, so no worries as to any major time commitments. **EDIT DEC 2020: So much for “no time commitments” promise- this thing took a turn into NOVEL territory with 12 chapters and 100K words! Sorry, pals. I hope it’s still enjoyable!**. I'm raising a metaphorical glass to you. This one's for you. Happy New Year. -Jen
> 
> *Additional note as of October 2020:  
> The previous update was "chapter 4" on September 5. Since then, I have revised the chapter lengths. Therefore the next/newest update, which is available as of 12 OCT 2020, will be "CHAPTER EIGHT" rather than "five." Previous content has not been removed from the "original" version, and I have not added content to those first four chapters (which have now been separated into SEVEN chapters). Returning readers who already finished the previous update in September need not play "catch-up". The only new content for you all is CHAPTER EIGHT, so, just skip ahead. However, readers who had been following New Year, but missed out on my previous update (which HAD BEEN chapter "4" at the time on 05 September 2020), the "new" content for you all starts in chapter six- "STARBOY INTERLUDE".

**~ _11:13pm, December 31, 2019 ~_**

Sliding awkwardly between dozens of glammed up drunk twenty-somethings and slightly calmer thirty-somethings, Sigyn scowled as she made her way to the lavish bar on the other side of the room. She wanted to throttle Darcy for forcing her, on pain of relentlessly sending sex gifs to her phone during every waking hour of January, to come to this over-crowded, loud New Year’s Eve party at a friend of a...uh... _friend's_...swanky new restaurant on West Broadway, just off the corner of Grand Street. Said restaurant— _Strange_ (a little on the nose since it was the guy's name, come _on)_ —had opened only three days ago, yet already had a six-month waiting list. Honestly, she did not understand the obsessive _need_ these types had to be members of the social elite in the lower west side(or at least _appear_ to be). The portion sizes here were miniscule and cost as much as a new iPhone, leaving you hungrier (and poorer, obviously) than before you arrived. So then you end up paying for Thai take out or something on the way home to actually fill your stomach. She needed a salary three times what she made now to "justify" partaking in Manhattan's foodie culture. 

Locking eyes with her _supposed_ best friend, she flashed a fake smile as she approached.

“Hey lady!” Darcy shouted, clearly unsteady on her feet as she pushed up on her toes to hug her neck. Even without the four inch heels, Sigyn was a couple inches taller than Darcy.

“Wasted already, I see,” Sigyn said, her distinct, lilting _God-save-the-Queen!_ accent a perfect match with the lift of her chin.

“Dude, it’s like 11:30,” Darcy rolled her eyes, “or close to it, I think, so why the hell _wouldn’t_ I be drunk? Been here for _hours._ Anyway,” she waved a hand absently, then looked her friend up and down, “you are wearing the hell out of that little black mini-dress, Siggy. Ugh, why oh why don’t I have your legs? Is that new?” her eyes shot wide open then, her jaw dropping. “Hold the phone, is that a fucking _Saint Laurent?!”_

Putting a hand over her eyes, genuinely ashamed, Sigyn nodded slowly. “Cost me more than my goddamn rent. I hate myself. My Visa does too, for the record,” she added, pulling her credit card out of her sleek black wristlet and tapping the corner of it on the counter.

At least she was getting a ton of air miles out of the overzealous spending, right? And she could at least wear it again, so it wasn't a _complete_ waste of hard-earned money, like a meal at this place would be. Right? She scoffed under her breath, annoyed that she was trying to defend such an absurd purchase.

Darcy gave her a look, arms crossing. “Listen, if you go depression shopping on Greene Street without me again, I will stab you with those spiked Louis V's on your feet. Yes, I noticed those too, sweetie. Also, I want to borrow them. Bucky would do the most gloriously vile things to me if he came home and saw me wearing those... _only_ those,” she quipped, biting her lip and wiggling her eyebrows.

Sigyn sucked in her cheeks, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You just accused your best friend of _depression shopping_ -” she made air quotes with her fingers “-but you think I’d let you borrow them to use as sex heels with your fit boyfriend who would give you the moon if he could?”

Eyes wide, Darcy blinked. “Siggy, that’s not what I-”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not what you meant,” she snapped, checking that the plunging neckline of her dress was still in place, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to throw your amazing, still perfectly in-tact relationship in my face. I’m sure you’re just cracking jokes or trying to compliment this sinfully-priced, take-out-a-personal-loan-to-pay-for-it strip of fabric.” She was shaking and getting louder by the second. “I’m sure you’re just too drunk to notice I _hate_ this place, because everyone has someone to kiss at midnight but me...” she trailed off, her voice failing her at the sight of Bucky coming up behind Darcy and snaking his arms around her waist.

He must have heard her ranting about kissing at midnight since he had this dreadful pitying expression on his stupidly attractive face, and it made her want to punch him right between his pretty steel blue eyes. She didn’t want his pity, but apparently she had it now. How fucking embarrassing.

“Hey, Sigyn, let me buy you a drink,” he offered, pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket.

Waving a hand, she shook her head. “Thanks, but I can pay for my own alcohol, Bucky.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing the credit card in her hand. “You sure? Sounds like you might have maxed it out already.”

“Bucky!” Darcy turned to smack his arm.

He shrugged one shoulder, most likely about to defend his lack of comedic-timing, but Sigyn’s shriek cut him off.

“Forty dollars for _one_ glass of champagne?” she scoffed, her jaw falling to the ground as she squinted at the drink menu on the wall behind the bar. Well for god’s sake, maybe she _couldn’t_ pay for her own alcohol tonight. Unrealistically, she'd hoped it would be an open bar, what with how much cash former neurosurgeon and now fancy restaurateur Stephen Strange was swimming in. Talk about wishful thinking.

“Fine,” she sighed, shoulders slumping as she turned to her best friend’s boyfriend. “I rescind my earlier answer. You may buy me a drink.” Setting her elbow on the counter, she laid her chin on her palm.

Darcy mirrored her, blowing out a breath. “You know I couldn’t let you stay home tonight, right?”

Sigyn gave her a withering look, but Darcy kept talking.

“You would have started binge watching _Breaking Bad_ on Netflix for the thousandth time!”

“So what?” she plucked the champagne flute from Bucky's hand and took a sip, her face screwing up. _Eek_ ー a bit sweet for her taste buds, but whatever. “It’s an amazing show.”

“I know it’s an amazing show!” Darcy shouted, flinging her hands up. “But I had to save you from watching it for _sad_ reasons.”

Since the champagne didn’t exactly have a flavor she wanted to savor, Sigyn swallowed the rest of it in one go. “At least if I had stayed home, I could have made the drink I want for a fraction of the cost of this glorified grape juice.”

Darcy gave her a look. “You mean two gin and tonics, then crying yourself to sleep on your couch in one of Loki’s five hundred dollar black hoodies big enough to drown in?”

“No, _three_ gin and tonics. Get. It. Right,” Sigyn stared daggers, poking Darcy’s chest with her forefinger.

She looked down at her feet then, knowing it was _such_ a cliche to cling to her ex-boyfriend’s clothes that he didn’t bother to retrieve from her place after their _awful_ break-up in October, but she couldn’t help herself. The fabric was so soft, and it still smelled like himー like woodsmoke and jasmine had somehow mated and spawned a fragrance that made her toes curl. She wrinkled her nose at that thought— _fragrances having babies?_ Well alright then.

“I know you miss him,” Darcy said, squeezing her shoulder, “and I totally get needing time to grieve over the loss of a relationship, but maybe you can take _one_ night off from the self-flagellation. I mean, _look_ at you.” She waved a hand up and down the length of her. “You listen to me, Sigyn Frey, you are a _ten,_ and there are, like, a _thousand_ guys in this room alone who would kill for a shot with you. I’m not saying you need to find a replacement boyfriend, just a quick casual thing for fun. Remember _fun?_ That thing you used to know how to do?”

“Hey, Bucky,” Sigyn called to him, looking around Darcy, ignoring _every_ word out of her mouth, and tapped his shoulder. He turned around, eyes wide and one eyebrow cocked. “Can you hook a girl up with a _proper_ drink? Something with gin, please? Bombay, _not_ house.”

“Yup, I can make that happen,” he nodded with a smile, leaning over the counter and waving the bartender over. He said something she couldn’t hear then pointed back to her, one finger raised. 

Eyes sweeping the room nervously, looking for one person in particular, she tucked her hair behind her ears. In exchange for fifteen percent ownership during the initial fundraising phase back in August, Loki had invested a _huge_ sum of cash in this place as a favor for his old Harvard mate (he'd been in undergrad, and Stephen in med school), so it wouldn’t exactly be a shock if he showed up tonight. And come on, his penthouse, which made her apartment look like a broom closet, was only three measly blocks from here at _way_ -out-of-her-price-range 55 Thomspon. She could be there in less than five minutes if she wanted to. And _damn_ , did she want to. She'd chosen this low-cut, leggy dress and sky high heels, and applied extra jet-black mascara to make her eyes greener and dark red long-lasting lipstick for one reason— she wanted to wow the pants right off of him. Literally. She knew that wouldn't happen though. His silence since the break-up had made that clear. Still...that nagging inkling of hope was in the back of her head.

Still waiting for her drink, and getting more anxious by the second, she pulled her phone out of her clutch, because why _wouldn’t_ she stalk her ex's Instagram when she had two seconds to spare? His official blue-check account— @ _LokisWriting_ —had grown to over three hundred thousand followers over the past four years, but even with his increasing popularity, he rarely posted anything. However, with all his incredibly-good-looking-son-of-a-real-estate-king-and-now-critically-acclaimed-author connections in the lower west side, new pictures of his face (or back) were posted by those connections, with his knowing it or not. Lucky for her (or unlucky, depending on how one viewed the situation), they nearly always tagged him. Just as she tapped on his profile, Darcy snatched her phone away from her and closed the app.

“You haven’t changed your homescreen?” Darcy scoffed at the image of Loki standing in Sigyn’s pint-sized kitchen, his head thrown back and laughing with her black cat Sketch wrapped around his leg, _literally_ trying to climb him like a tree.

“Siggy, this is amateur stuff. Break up 101,” she hissed, sliding her thumb up the screen to open the camera. “No _wonder_ you’re still mooning over the guy. You see him _every_ time you use your phone. Which is, like, every eight seconds! Listen to me, you are gonna take a brand new selfie with me right here, right now. Then you’re gonna post it because you look like you just walked off a Vogue shoot, and there’ll be dudes lining the block for you, both literal _and_ digital, and you’re gonna use it to replace your current, soul-crushing background. Got it?” She turned around, holding the phone up and centering the image with her arm around Sigyn.

She sighed, eyes glazing over while reaching around Darcy to swipe her poison of choice from the counter as soon as the bartender _finally_ set it down. Playing with the small black cocktail straw in the icy tumbler, she waited for Darcy to tilt her shiny “2020” top hat sideways to just the right angle. Sigyn had refused a similar hat when the coat check guy had offered because yeah, she was that much of a new year’s Scrooge. The last quarter of this year had left her _hollow._

“God, Siggy, _smile,"_ Darcy said, eyes rolling. “You have the prettiest teeth I have ever seen, and they’re going to absolute _waste_ with you as their owner.”

Forcing a smile that in no way reached her eyes, Sigyn held up her glass in a universal _CHEERS!_ gesture. The smile fell the second Darcy tapped the screen to take the picture, and Sigyn resumed mindlessly stirring her drink. She couldn’t be less interested in posting fake happiness that would only contribute to the growing anxiety of young adults requiring likes by the hundreds for validation of their plastic, self-centered, shiny object, devoid of meaning lives. Darcy slapped her shoulder then, and she looked up.

“Ouch! The hell, Darce?”

Darcy pointed to the photo. “I can literally _hear_ your existential angst in this picture.”

“Using the word _‘literally’_ all kinds of wrong, yet again,” Sigyn droned, taking another sip, hoping the alcohol would kick her dopamine levels into overdrive here in the next few moments. “And how one can _hear_ angst simply by looking at a billion colored pixels, I’ll never know.”

“Sigyn!” an excited voice called out from behind her shoulder, cutting off whatever defensive line Darcy was about to throw at her.

She turned to see her favorite colleague Carol with her new wife Val coming toward her, their champagne flutes raised in the air to avoid any unfortunate beverage collisions with other party-goers. She reached for Carol when she was within arms reach.

“Look at you beauties, welcome home,” she said, squeezing the woman and kissing her cheek, then repeating the gesture with Val. “I didn’t know you were back from the Alps. How was it?”

Carol laughed, snaking her arm around Val’s waist. “Soooo, I love this woman to death, and she’s a phenomenal horse rider, which we did a little bit of, _but…_ she can’t ski for shit.”

“I feel that deep in my bones,” Darcy nodded, tipping her hat toward Val. “I don’t get the fuss over skiing.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Bucky piped up, turning away from a casual conversation with another friend on his other side to give the newlyweds hugs. “Skiing is fun as hell.”

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him. “Yeah, well, some of us aren’t solid muscle Iraq vets with thighs of betrayal that can handle snow like some kind of winter soldier or whatever.” She giggled when he dragged her face up to his and nuzzled her nose, giving her a series of small kisses on her mouth, which quickly accelerated into a _GET-A-ROOM!_ situation when the tongues came out.

Sigyn made a face at their display, her eyes darting around the room for someone else to talk to. Not that she didn’t love Carol and Val, but they still had that honeymoon glow, and no amount of being happy for them- currently idling at 73% -made up for the fact that she felt like a third wheel. That, and Val and Loki went _way_ back, as in, grew up in Oxford together before his father dragged the family (Loki's older 19-year old brother included) to the states back in 2000. Val made the move thirteen years after that, and had been his literary agent ever since, and it was taking everything in Sigyn to not shake the woman for any information at _all_ about him. She needed distance from Val. _Now_. Maybe she should excuse herself to the ladies’ room.

“He asked about you last week,” Val spoke suddenly, her voice breaking through Sigyn’s inner despondent, and frankly _desperate_ dialogue.

Chest tightening at the prospect of him still giving a damn about her after nearly three months of radio silence, her eyes snapped up to the woman. She cocked her head sideways, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah?” Keep it cool. “Just generally or…?”

“Texted me on Christmas day,” she answered, far too vaguely for Sigyn’s liking, while fishing her phone out of her bag, then handed it to Sigyn. “It’s easier to just show you.”

Holding Val's phone with a shaking hand, Sigyn stared at the screen, her heart racing at just the sight of his _name_ in text.

**  
  
**

**_Loki: Happy Christmas,_ _Val._ **

**_Val: It’s MERRY_ _Christmas_ **

**_Loki: I swear, dating_ _and marrying_ _an_ _American_ _has ruined_ _you._ **

**_Val: Loki Odinson._ _How dare you._ _You_ _take that_ _back right now_ **

**_Loki:_ _Jumpers or_ _sweaters?_**

**_Val: Sweaters_ **

**_Loki: FFS. I'm_ _revoking_ _your_ _British card._**

**_Val: Haha. Listen, I_ _love ya,_ _Lo,_ _but_ _since_ _I AM on my_ _honeymoon_ _and all,_**

**_I'd rather be going_ _down_ _on_ _my wife_ _than_ _texting you_**

**_about_ _Brit_ _vernacular._ _Anything else?_**

**_Loki: Christ._ **

**_Loki: That’s a_ _divine_ _image._**

**_Loki: Maybe we should_ _switch_ _to Facetime._**

**_Val: You are not_ _serious_ **

**_Loki: Just prop the_ _phone_ _up and mute_ _me._ **

**_Val: OMG_ **

**_Loki: What? You're_ _the one_ _who brought i_ _t up._ **

**_Loki: In_ _more_ _ways than one._ **

**_Val: HAHAHAHAHAHA._ _Save that_ _world-class_ _charm_ _for the_ _single_ _girls._ **

**_But_ _let's be_ _real._ _You are_ _clearly_ _stalling._ _What’s_ _going on_**

**_Val: God, are you writing_ _a_ _goddamn essay_ _over there?_ _You_ _have_ _been typing a_**

**_response_ _for a_ _thousand_ _years now_ **

**_Val: Must be something_ _legit_ **

**_Loki: I’m sorry I left_ _your_ _wedding early_ _without_ _saying_ _goodbye._ **

**_Val: Um...that’s fine?_ **

**_Loki: I feel the need to_ _preface this by saying I_ _am very much aware_ **

**_that it will sound beyond_ _pathetic, but I need to_ _get it off my chest._ **

**_I_ _saw Sig at the ceremony,_ _and everything else in_ _that room just disappeared._ **

**_I wanted her, was desperate_ _to get my hands on her,_ _but I wasn't allowed to._ **

**_I couldn't sit with her and_ _put my arm around her_ _shoulder. I wouldn't get_ **

**_to kiss her or dance with_ _her, and I most definitely_ _would NOT get to pull her_ **

**_into a bathroom stall and_ _fuck her (classy, I know)_ _against the wall like I_ **

**_damn well deserved to, in_ _my mind. It was like a_ _kick to the gut, and I just_ **

**_couldn't handle another_ _second of it. So I left like_ _a positively insufferable,_ **

**_self-entitled brat. I’m truly_ _sorry, Val. That wasn’t_ _fair to you or Carol._ **

**_Val: *sigh* It’s FINE._ _I_ _wasn’t_ _mad._ _I kind_ _of gathered_ _what_ _was_ _going on there._**

**_Obviously_ _not those_ _graphic_ _specifics,_ _just_ _generally_ _speaking._ **

**_But_ _you’re_ _forgiven,_ _if that_ _helps._ **

**_Loki: I'm relieved to_ _hear that._ _Thank you._**

**_Val: Of course, Lo. Be_ _sure to_ _tell_ _your_ _mum_ _hi for me_ _when_ _you see her_ **

**_at the_ _family_ _dinner tonight_ **

**_Loki: Have you seen_ _her since?_ **

**_Val: Who?_ **

**_Loki: Sig._ **

**_Val: Um...not in person._ _But_ _Nat posted_ _pics_ _from_ _her_ _and Sam’s_ _Xmas_ _eve_ _party_**

**_last_ _night._ _Sigyn_ _was_ _in_ _a few_ _of them._**

**_Loki: Yes, I saw those._ _Quill had_ _his goddamn_ _arm around her._ **

**_Val: He has a girlfriend._ _There_ _are_ _pics of_ _her all_ _over_ _his_ _profile_**

**_Loki: He was still_ _holding my girl._ **

**_Val: Shit...Lo..._ **

**_Val: She’s not your_ _girl_ _anymore_ **

**_Val: I can’t even begin_ _to describe how_ _much_ _I hate_ _saying_ _that to_ _you_**

**_Val: If you’re this torn_ _up about it,_ _CALL HER._ **

**  
  
  
**

Frowning down at the screen in her hand, Sigyn blinked back tears, her chest _aching_. He had left it at that. The conversation ended there. He’d left Val on read at 3:47pm on December 25. Handing Val her phone once more, she shrugged and smiled weakly.

“Well, he hasn't called me. Guess he's not that torn up about it," she said, using the words Val had.

Val and Carol exchanged baffled glances with each other. It was Carol who spoke first.

“You’re both either impossibly prideful, or dense.”

Shaking her head, Sigyn snorted. Carol had hit the nail on the head, though she sure as hell didn’t want to admit that. Honestly, she was having a hard time remembering _why_ she and Loki called it quits. There had been an all out shouting match. Doors had been slammed. That much, she remembered. Something about him leaving her or maybe it was about him supposedly not giving a damn when their friend Tony died in April? There had been lots of accusations tossed around, and thinking back to that dayーOctober 1, to be precise ーnot even _one_ of them stood out as being even remotely legitimate for breaking up.

She’d seen him at that early December wedding too, sitting on the other side of the aisleー Val’s side, of course ーand a good seven rows back. Despite his tired eyes hinting at a string of sleepless nights, he’d looked _fine as hell_. With his hair tied back, just neat enough for a nice event while still having an easy-going, effortless feel to it, in his _perfectly_ tailored charcoal grey suit and crisp white shirt, no tie, unbuttoned to just below his collar bones, she would have been _all_ over him if they were still together. Rather, she had avoided him like the plague because she was a coward. It hadn’t been a difficult task to steer clear of him since he’d ducked out right after the ceremony, and now she knew why he had.

Reading Val’s conversation with him felt surrealー like going into another dimension, as ridiculous as that sounded. He’d admitted to looking for her in six-degrees-of-friends-of-friends posts. He wanted to kiss her, to have sex with her in a public bathroom (classy, like he'd said), and heaven knew she would have done it in a heartbeat, but he hadn't said that he still _loved_ her. That hurt. Bad. Because she was still _so_ in love with him.

Abruptly, she stumbled forward a little as Darcy and Bucky, in all their drunken making out lack of awareness glory, knocked into her back. A bit of her drink sloshed out onto her chest, and she groaned, quickly grabbing a cocktail napkin to soak up the liquid from her exposed skin before it dripped onto the dry clean only fabric of her dress. She would have told them off, but they were still very much attached to each other’s faces, so it wasn’t worth it. Turning to Val and Carol, she mouthed _“happy 2020”_ and clutching her precious gin and tonic to her chest, she walked away.

With no specific destination in mind, she moved through the mass of undulating bodies ringing in the roarin 20s with a bang on the make-shift dance floor. Were they all really as happy as they looked? Or was it just the alcohol and uppers (for some) and good music? Was anyone else in this socialite-trap-of-a-restaurant just as beaten down and broken as her? Were they hiding behind luxury designer outfits and undereye concealer? She stopped and tilted her head back, trying to let the heavy bass relax her tight, anxious muscles as it traveled from her heels all the way to her head. This was the part where Loki would have gripped her hips from behind, and she would have slid her hand up into his hair and arched her back, grinding into him, and it would have been heaven on earth because he would have dragged her back to his place, and they would have _destroyed_ his bed frame. She could feel the liquor now, since rather than fall to pieces at the thought of him, she groaned and bit her lip. In her periphery, she saw Darcy shimmy like a total _dork_ across the floor to her.

“ _Kiki, do you love me-”_ Darcy sang off key, whipping her hair out of her face and laughing “ _-are you riding? Say you’ll never ever leave from beside me-”_

“Why are you dancing alone? Where's Bucky?” Sigyn shouted over her tone deaf friend.

“I’m not alone! I'm dancing with you!” Darcy shouted back. “You know, if you would actually start dancing instead of just standing here like a total weirdo. And Buck is, for all his muscular capability, the _worst_ dancer. Like, super white.”

Sigyn raised an eyebrow. "Um...he _is_ white."

“Fair point,” Darcy nodded, then squeaked when she almost dropped her glass. “My god, everyone is going all hashtag _In My Feelings_ challenge right here on this floor, and I love it!”

“Minus the moving, driver-less car,” Sigyn pointed out, moving her hips a little, not feeling Darcy's pep at _all_.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Darcy put a hand on her hip. “Why did you come here if you were gonna be such a grump? I mean...I am trying to be a good friend. Trying to cheer you up. For months I've tried to get you to talk to me. I still have no clue what happened with you two, and it's driving me insane to _not_ know because it was so out of left field, but I haven't nagged you about it. I haven't asked and asked and asked you to tell me the gritty details because breaking up is shitty enough without having to give the play by play to someone else. But if you won't open up at all, I can't help you. Is this...is this because of the whole midnight kiss thing?"

Sigyn set her empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he passed by them, then took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. God, if Darce had any idea why this day was so important...

“Thanks for bringing that up," she laid the sarcasm on thick. "Really appreciate that.”

Eyes rolling, Darcy held up her hands in surrender. “You win. I'm done. I am not gonna argue with you. It's New Years Eve, and you are sucking all the fun out of it for me. And yeah that sounds heartless and selfish, but this day only comes around once a year, and it is not supposed to be a total downer. If you decide to do something other than mope, I'll be at the bar with my friends who don't make me miserable."

Feeling a pang of regret for "making her friend miserable" but also pissed that Darcy had accused her of moping, as though she was some sort of moody teenager throwing a passive aggressive tantrum, she practically bolted to the restroom, which did not have a line out the door thank god. Setting both hands on the granite counter, she stared at her reflection in the soft vanity lighting. January 1st was almost here, and none of her friends knew the significance of it. Yes, her original plans for today had been to stay home, but now that she was here, she realized just how scared she was to be alone tonight. Not that she needed to wash her hands since she hadn't used the toilet or anything, but she turned on the faucet and reached for the soap anyway. This end of 2019 love fest that all her friends had in the bag made her want to fall right through the floor, but at least if she was here with them, they would make sure she _didn't_ fall through the floor. Just as she grabbed a towel to dry her hands, one of her favorite "break up" songs- one that she'd listened to _way_ too much these past three months -came through the overhead sound system. She froze, her running-on-fumes energy to stick around plummeting. The lyrics twisted her stomach painfully:

_"I eat my dinner in my bathtub,_

_then I go to sex clubs-”_

_  
_Oh no.

_“And I drank up all my money,_

_dazed and kinda lonely-”_

_  
_No no no no no.

“ _You’re gone and I gotta stay high_

_All the time, to keep you off my mind_

_Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh”_

_  
_Exhaling shakily, she covered her now trembling mouth with the back of her hand. Oh god, she was going to crumple to the ground right here in front of all these giddy, care-free, younger, hotter women making duck faces in the mirror while re-applying their already flawless makeup.

“ _Spend my days locked in a haze,_

_Tryna forget you, baby_

_I fall back down”_

_  
_Vision clouding over, her mind left the room, and she saw an entirely different image:

_A smooth, freshly-shaven, pale face with stunning bone structure and darkened green eyes hovers over her. Locks of raven hair, just barely too short for the elastic at the nape of his neck, hang down, grazing her cheeks. She sees her hand on his neck, her thumb running along his sharp jawline. The other clings to his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle. He turns his head, catching her thumb between his teeth, then closes his lips over it. Her responding moan is loud enough to drown out the pounding bass from her neighbor’s 4th of July party next door._

Reality came screaming back then, the all too appropriate music in Strange's ultra-chic ladies’ room breaking through the still fresh and utterly _sublime_ memory.

“ _Gotta stay high_

_All my life_

_To forget I’m missin’ you”_

_  
_She was vaguely aware of someone asking “ _you okay, hon?”_ and her muffled answer— “ _allergies_ ” —then she felt her body gliding toward the door, the clicking of her stilettos on the gleaming marble tiles the only clear indication that she wasn’t a ghost. Head down lest anyone see her red eyes and smudged black eyeliner and ask if she was okay when clearly she was _not_ and wanted to be left the fuck alone, she walked as fast as possible through the crowd, making a beeline for the exit.

She had to get out of here. All these couples— Darcy and Bucky, Val and Carol, Natasha and Sam who she’d just spotted grinding against each other on the dance floor —only shined a light on her misery. She couldn’t do this. No amount of great beats or sexy designer dresses or numbing alcohol would bring him back.

After grabbing her black bomber jacket from coat check, she started toward the doors again, yanking the sleeves on as she went. A mere ten steps from her steel framed plate glass salvation, she bumped into a broad, muscular chest. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before looking up because— _goddammit_ —she knew exactly who it was, and she was _not_ prepared to talk to him.

“Sigyn?”

His gruff, English-accented voice that reminded her of _home_ sounded pleasantly surprised, and she wanted to smack him for it. Why the hell would he not just say “ _pardon me”_ and step aside? Why did he have to be nice? Why did he have to be such a sweetheart— an ever happy puppy greeting you at the door when you return fifteen minutes after you left for work because you forgot your breakfast smoothie on the kitchen counter? If he had a tail, it would be wagging _all_ the time. White knuckling her wristlet, she put on a smile and lifted her chin.

“Hello, Thor,” she said, relieved her voice didn’t sound as weak as she felt as she made reluctant eye contact with her ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

“Hi!” He wrapped her in a tight hug, and she gave him a lifeless pat on the back, stepping away quickly. Running a hand through his short, perfectly mussed dark blond hair, he cleared his throat. “Feels like it’s been ages since I saw you!”

Swallowing the sudden, massive lump in her throat, she merely nodded, choosing not to respond verbally to that hard to accept truth. She was in denial, but she already knew that.

“Heard you were in London?”

Another nod. “Yes, um,” she looked down at her hands, picking at her black nail polish, “I went to see my mum and dad for a bit in November. Everyone here was off for Thanksgiving, which you know...it's really an American thing anyhow...and I guess I wasn’t feeling, you know,” she paused, chewing her lip, “thankful...for much. Plus I hate turkey. Erm, eh, the taste of it, I mean. Not the bird. Though someone told me wild ones are pretty vicious, so maybe I would hate them if I met one.”

Rambling at its finest, ladies and gents.

Thor chuckled. “Never took you for a poultry bigot.”

Snorting softly under her breath, she pressed her lips together and mustered the courage to meet his eyes again. They were smiley and warm, as usual. She’d always thought blue was a cool color, but his eyes proved otherwise. He had a heart of gold, and it made her chest ache.

“Jane mentioned you might be here tonight,” he said, pocketing his hands in his simple black slacks. “Darcy tells her everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, they’ve worked together for nearly ten years, and Darcy can’t hold her tongue for anything. Not that it bothers me if Jane knew I would possibly attend this shindig,” she added, motioning to the crowd behind her.

_Is Loki here?_ — she bit the insides of her cheeks so she wouldn’t ask it.

“Speaking of work...how's the new job going?” Thor asked, eyebrows up.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, at a loss for words to even that simple question. Thank god it wasn’t the dreaded “ _how’ve you been”_ that everyone seemed so hell bent on asking her. She knew it wasn’t malicious on their part, but rather checking in with her, making sure she was eating enough, getting fresh air and sunlight, letting her know she wasn’t invisible to them. Granted there had been that one incident at her gym though, when Amora, who Loki dated five years ago and clearly relished in other people getting their hearts broken, had smiled sweetly and warned her to take it easy with the revenge weight loss because _“Loki isn’t into the heroin-chic look, sweetie.”_

_Fucking bitch._

Back to Thor’s question— _how’s the new job going_. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she shrugged.

“Can’t complain.”

She might have gone into further detail, but conversing with this absolute _gem_ of a man who she’d honestly thought might one day be her brother-in-law, was making it increasingly hard to breathe. The tears were building again, and she wouldn’t be able to hold them back much longer. He must have sensed her anxiety, her need to disappear from the celebrating— from the _planet,_ to be honest —because he took a small step back.

“I know that right now you need the distance,” he said so softly, she barely heard him, “but please don’t _stay_ a stranger, Sigyn.”

He gave her a small, obviously sad smile, and a little wave, then turned away.

Bottom lip quivering, her chest hitched as she watched his impressive six foot three frame get smaller and smaller, his blond head shining like a halo under the neon lights. When she couldn’t see him anymore, she looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the burning tears and spun on her heel to leave the overwhelming heat of the packed restaurant.

Once outside, she inhaled deeply, the cold air shocking her senses. Keys in hand, shivering from both the cold and the stabbing pain in her gut after seeing Thor, she hurried up the crowded SoHo sidewalk, sidestepping puddles and the unsteady, tipsier types. God, her feet were _not_ happy with these heels, but at least her building was only a seven minute walk from here. Twenty or so annoying, but harmless catcalls later, she arrived at the outside doors that led to her small, pre-war one-bedroom, a few floors above a trendy cycling cafe (so weird) and next to a juice bar on Prince Street. The owner of said juice bar saw her just as she was about to push through those glass double doors and drag herself up to her place.

“Hi, Ms. Frey!”

“Hey, Joe,” she said, foot tapping anxiously on the concrete as she leaned back against the elaborate, painted black wood door frame, “and for the hundredth time, _please_ just call me Sigyn.”

“Oh right, yeah,” he chuckled. “You heading in for the night?”

“Um,” she pressed her lips together, looking up at the street numbersー _161-159_ ーpainted onto the glass over the doors.

“Sadly, yes,” she blew out a heavy breath. “I know it’s early, but I’m just not feeling it this year.”

He nodded. “I’m right there with you, even though tonight’s been great for business. Well, anyway,” he waved a hand, “get some sleep if you can with all those fireworks and stuff, Sigyn. 2020 will be here tomorrow either way. Nothing wrong with greeting it at 9:00 am instead of midnight.” The second he turned away, she pushed through the heavy doors.

He was right. She knew that. But it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t _want_ to greet New Years Day.

_At all._

Could she please just wake up and have it be January 2nd instead? She felt like a broken, pathetic shell of a woman, and this night’s incessant revelry and joy only served to magnify it. When the doors closed behind her, saving her from the excitement on the street, she absolutely _lost_ it. Eyes slamming shut, she cried without restraint, sobbing and coughing and gasping into her the back of her hand. Fingers gripping the wrought iron art nouveau handrail for dear life, she climbed three flights of stairs, just barely aware enough of her surroundings to walk to the correct doorーthe one with a gold number 8 on it.

Sniffing loudly, she shoved her key angrily into the deadbolt, begging the universe for no one to walk into the hall and see her in this state. She slammed the door shut behind her, locking it forcefully. Shrugging out of her jacket as she stepped around her studio-sized couch and through the open french doors to her bedroom, she saw Sketch curled up in _his_ chair near the radiator under her window. He’d claimed the plush, dark green velvety thing for himself a while ago, and she hadn’t fought him on the matter even though it was supposed to be a spot for her to read. She skirted around her queen-size, swiping a tissue along the way to wipe the snot (ugh) off her nose, then bent down to kiss the top of his head. The buzzing feel of his purring against her face tickled enough that she backed away, scratching her cheek.

“He wasn’t there, Sketchy boy,” she whispered, picking the 2019 top NYT fiction bestseller up from her pillow. This was her fourth read through, and it wouldn’t be her last. She turned it over, eyes roving over the sample of adoring reviews printed like watermarks over the author’s picture:

  
  


_"His first novel, 2016’s_ _Starboy _ _, which hit the shelves in July of that year, wasn’t just well-written, it was SLEEKー as sleek as Odinson’s real life glacier white F-type and Ray Bans. Narrated by a man born with a silver spoon who had no use for it without a lighter, a swab of cotton, and a needle, this starboy reeked of privilege, of sex, of endlessly deep pockets, yet I LIKED him, and considering how massively successful the book was, clearly I wasn’t alone. Fast forward to late 2018, when literary critics are given early access to_ _Looking for Sunlight_ _, and I am thrilled to say Odinson is no one hit wonder. What an absolute knockout."_

_"How the hell did this man keep putting one foot in front of the other? Forget seeing the forest through the treesー he can’t even see the TREES. The pathos of Looking for Sunlight is gut-wrenching, and even though my insides are aching, I’m going to read it a thousand times more."_

_"Halfway through Looking for Sunlight , I slammed it shut to sob into my living room rug. I went through three boxes of tissues to get through the second half. Mind. Blown."_

_"I am in love. Looking for Sunlight is a raw, unaffected read, every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as its author." _

_"The atmospheric metaphors in Odinson’s sophomore effort_ _Looking for Sunlight_ _suck the oxygen out of the room, his pain and desperation seeping through the paper with every page turn, of which there are over three hundred, each more beautiful than the one before it."_

_"In Looking for Sunlight’s _ _darker moments, of which there are many, I wondered if the heroine was ACTUAL heroin. Presumably Odinson’s muse is a woman rather than a life-ruining opioid, but she is still a dangerous, painfully addicting habit that he cannot quit. Speaking of which, I might actually be in withdrawal after reading the last line of this stunner twelve hours ago. I am shaking and sweating, my stomach in knots. I need more."_

Gingerly turning the book over, Sigyn opened the front hard cover. She flipped through the first few pages to find the one she wanted. Staring at the ink in the middle of the nearly empty page, she ran her thumb over the dedication that she’d first read almost exactly a year ago.

  
  


**~** _**8:52am, January 1, 2019~** _

_Returning to Loki’s apartment after going out to grab two coffees with extra espresso shots and breakfast bagels from Ground Support cafe just around the block, Sigyn tossed her keys on the console table in the entryway. She set the drink carrier and piping hot pastry bag down beside them so she could unwind her scarf, then hung it from the stylish coat tree next to the table. It was quiet, so it was fair to assume Loki was still asleep. Keeping her steps as light as possible on the white oak floor, she walked down the front hall and turned the corner into the living room._

_She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes popping and jaw dropping when she saw a fresh bouquet of absolutely STUNNING sunrise calla lilies, still wrapped in florist’s brown paper, laid sideways on the coffee table, and propped up in front of them was a crisp, pre-release hardback copy of Loki’s highly-anticipated second novel._

_Holy shit. Those had NOT been there when she left. Mouth still hanging open in shock, she dropped their fresh coffees (carefully) and food off on the kitchen island first, then hurried to the table. She all but fell to her knees, leaning in to inhale the flowers, then quickly swiped the book up to get a better look at the cover._

_Matte black background with chaotic, unevenly spaced vertical glossy black lines running from top to bottom, which she quickly realized were silhouettes of bare-branched trees, and barely there emerald eyes with all the iridescent complexities of actual irises hiding in the background, just below the embossed, thin gold lettering of the title. A shiver shot up her spine. The cover was hauntingly gorgeous. She would hang it on her wall if she could._

_But as perfect as the cover was, it was the black and white, high contrast full-length shot of the author on the back that floored her. He stood facing the camera, but his head was turned sideways, the angle highlighting his to die for profile. Clad in a GQ-worthy leather black jacket and classic white v-neck with dark, perfectly fitted jeans and boots, he gave James Dean a run for his money. One hand was in his back pocket, the other on the top of his head, his fingers threading through his long jet black tousled hair, obviously halfway through pushing it off his face._

_Oh god, was she drooling?_

_Probably._

_Managing to tear her eyes away from the very definition of “bad boy”, she finally opened the book, slowly turning the hot-off-the-press, untouched pages. She stopped breathing when she got to page five, gaping at the simple dedication:_

_“For my forever dream girl. I’ll never get enough of you.”_

_Hand over her mouth, she blinked several times. Had he- had he really done that? She rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things. She wasn’t. Those words were actually there, printed in a million copies the world over. The entire planet would have access to what amounted to his public profession of love and unwavering hunger for her in a few more weeks, when it was due to hit the shelves and e-bookstores. What the planet could NOT see, however, was his neatly slanted handwriting on the opposite blank page in her personal copy:_

“ _On New Year’s Day 2017, I was a 33-year-old loaded gun, a bottle of Oxy, a noose around the neck, a razor to the wrist when I rolled out of bed and went for my obsessive must-never-miss-a-day morning run. I was hungover and freezing my ass off. It was drizzling and dreadfully dreary, and the streets were disturbingly empty, save for leftover confetti and discarded, dead Christmas trees that had more life left in them than I did. It was a new year, but I wasn’t a new man— just a man with a few more lines around his eyes, and a bit less hair around his temples. The Weeknd blasted in my ears on repeat at an ungodly decibel, reminding me that I wasn’t the only empty man trying to fill a void with cars instead of love. I wanted to turn around and run back home, but my legs had a mind of their own, dragging me further away, breaking in the new Nikes my father had given me seven days prior in lieu of any affection or affirmation whatsoever for the better part of three decades. I was unhappy, cold as ice, and desperate for a shower, but rather than run home, I took a detour up Greene Street, hooked a left onto Spring, then rounded the corner onto West Broadway and skidded to a halt, colliding with you as you came FLYING out of Ground Support. You shrieked and grabbed my arms because the heel of your boot caught the crack in the sidewalk, and you very nearly fell back onto the cafe steps. Your hands were still on me, no gloves, short nails painted black, as I yanked my AirPods out. I asked “where’s the fire, darling?” and you laughed SO hard. The attraction was off the charts. You felt it. I felt it. We agreed to meet on that corner again the next morning at 8. I bought you a coffee, and we walked every block of SoHo twice. I took you to lunch at Fanelli where I finished my plate plus half of yours, and I asked for your number when we left. Rather than take my phone out of my waiting hand to add yourself to my contacts, you took my hand, pulled a pen out of your bag, and wrote your number on my palm, signing your name under it and winking as you sauntered away like a goddamn siren. Fuck, I was done for right then. Mark me down as a head over heels, lovesick fool of a man. You were sunlight breaking through the endless grey. Two years later, you still are. I’m not going anywhere, love. Not unless it’s with you. Here’s to 2019, forever dream girl. All my New Years are yours. -Loki”_

_With tears stinging her eyes, Sigyn closed the book and held it to her chest. How would she ever be able to repay him for this? Was he even REAL? What kind of man DOES this? Oh god, he was perfect. Flawed...but absolutely, one hundred thousand percent perfect. One hand still hugging her new precious gift, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She saw Loki in her periphery then, standing in his bedroom doorway, a hint of a smirk on his face, his hands in the pockets of his sweats._

_“I hear it’s pretty good,” he said, his smirk growing._

_Pushing to her feet, she ran to him, and his arms opened, wrapping her in a hug that she wanted to last forever._

  
  


**~ _11:59pm, December 31, 2019_ ~**

  
  


Head hanging and breathing shakily, Sigyn let the book drop back onto her pillow, then walked back into her kitchen to pour herself a shot of whatever she had left in her cabinets. There was shouting outside suddenly, and she looked at the clock on the microwave. The countdown was starting.

_Ten!_

Shit. Not yet, please.

_Nine!_

Pulling the skirt of her dress up around her waist, she climbed awkwardly onto the counter to reach her shot glasses on the top shelf.

_Eight!_

Eyes searching the shelves for the pretty glass bottle of Bombay, she breathed hard. Where the hell was it?

_Seven!_

Oh no. She scrambled to push dishes and glasses aside.

_Six!_

No no no no no.

_Five!_

It wasn’t there. She’d forgotten to pick some up from the store yesterday.

_Four!_

She climbed back down off the counter, landing on shaking legs.

_Three!_

Her skirt fell back into place, and her knees buckled.

_Two!_

Loki’s face flashed across her vision, and she slid down to the floor with no care for dirtying up her useless designer ”depression” dress.

_One!_

She hugged her knees against her chest, shaking from head to toe.

_Happy New Year!_

Fireworks exploded, booming across the city. She heard people singing _Auld Lang Syne_ in the streets, and _New York, New York_ blasting all the way from Times Square.

All she could do was drop her forehead to her knees and cry silently. She needed Loki. He'd said all his new years were hers, but here she was, only one year later, alone and sobbing on her kitchen floor. This was beyond agonizing.

She barely heard the "ding" of a text message, muffled from inside her bag that she'd tossed onto the counter when she first walked in, but she heard it nonetheless. It was probably Darcy asking her where the hell she'd gone. Whatever.

It dinged again. She stayed put, no longer crying- just staring ahead.

Another ding. Maybe it was her parents.

And another. No, neither of them texted in quick succession like that.

Another. Any of her friends might be checking in right now, after suddenly noticing her absence.

Another.

Another.

Wait- what if it was...

Eyes widening, she twisted to look up at the small bag over her head. No way in hell was it who she wanted it to be. Slowly, she reached up and pulled her phone out. Heart racing, hand shaking, she chewed her lip. Her stomach was in knots. Exhaling through her mouth, she looked at the screen. It was a group message from Darcy, obviously blind drunk, saying _"happy 2020, love you guys so fucking much!"_ and a selfie of her kissing Bucky's cheek. Her face fell.

Goddammit, Darce. Talk about _tone deaf._

She scrolled through the recipients, looking for _one_ name. Nat, Sam, Bucky, Carol, Val, Jane, Wanda, Sharon, Steve, Thor. No one else. Of course. The lot of them was responding with their own pictures and giddy messages. Well, that explained the incessant dinging. With fresh tears in her eyes, she put her phone on silent, seriously considering throwing it across the room.

Then a separate, non-group text lit up her screen.

**_Loki: Are you awake?_ **

She was on her feet in half a second, stumbling in her sky high stilettos.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she whispered, gaping at the screen, clinging to it like it was a life raft after falling overboard, her thumbs tapping out an immediate response.

**_Sigyn: HELL YES_ **

She slapped a hand to her forehead. Shit. Caps lock. Too aggressive!

**_Loki: ..._ **

Her entire body was shaking, flushing with heat that had her in a sweat. While his anxiety-inducing ellipses taunted her, she hurried the few feet into her bathroom to find a hair tie to get her hair off her neck.

**_Loki: Are you at home?_ **

Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she grabbed a tissue to clean up her eyeliner with one hand and text with the other. He wanted to know if she was home. That could only mean one thing. Right?

**_Sigyn: I am now._ _Went_ _to Strange earlier,_ _but I left early._**

**_Loki: ..._ **

Oh god, she might throw up. Good thing she was already near her toilet.

**_Loki: May I come up?_ **

Her jaw fell to the floor. Did he mean...up the block? Was he at his place? Or was he at the entrance to her building? Would responding that he could come wherever he wanted, especially _inside her_ , be inappropriate?

**_Sigyn: Wait...are you downstairs?_ **

**_Loki: Yes._ **

Oh dear god.

**_Sigyn: Are you alone?_ **

**_Loki: Yes._ **

Phone in her hand and chest heaving like she'd just stumbled into her place after a 10k run, she crossed her living room and opened her door. The pounding of her heart was loud enough to drown out the fireworks and cheering outside. Heels clicking at a snail's pace because she was half-convinced that she'd been imagining his texts- that he wasn't _really_ down there -she walked to the railing and looked over. Oh fuck. Loki was in her building. Three months without him, and now he was here, looking as gorgeous as ever, pacing back and forth across the first floor entry. He must have heard her because he looked up, his eyes finding hers immediately.

"Please get up here," she called down to him, voice shaking. His chest looked like it caved in on itself, releasing a breath he'd been holding, and jaw clenching, he ran up the stairs two at a time.

* * *

_"Without You" by Halsey ft. Juice WRLD (chapter song)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no doubt this story came from trying to process the feeling of a decade of my life being nothing more than memories now. During the 2010s, I returned to drawing (my work is on IG: @jenrtist) after a traumatic seven year hiatus and more importantly, I started writing. There was LOTS of pain along the way, but good god the 2010s were so beautiful. They brought me back to life. Ugh. Enough over-sharing. Back to ACTUAL notes about this story:
> 
> 1\. The setting for "New Year" is very much a real one. I went on Google and Apple maps for the streetview and "walked" around the real life locations I used for Loki’s and Sigyn’s apartments, Strange(fictional obviously), and Ground Support Café(real!). I had way too much fun with that. No joke, I searched legit NYC real estate sites to find the "right" buildings for them. If you are a total building/interior design/architecture nerd like me, you can even go check out the floorplan for Loki's apartment (penthouse A) at manhattanskyline.com/buildings/soho/55-thompson. Only about $15,000 monthly rent. *facepalms* This is called FICTION for a reason. At least, it would be for the vast majority of us.
> 
> 2\. I chose "Frey" for Sigyn's last name as a nod to the name "Freya"
> 
> 3\. Featured music in this chapter: “In My Feelings” by Drake is the song that Darcy and Sigyn dance to at the party. “Habits(Stay High)” by Tove Lo is the song that starts playing in the restaurant restroom while Sigyn is washing her hands and crying. "Starboy" by The Weeknd was playing in Loki's airpods when he met Sigyn on New Years 2017.
> 
> 4\. Be sure to tap/click that kudos button if you like it, and/or leave a comment. Those are always much appreciated! And please PLEASE go check out my Frigid Immortals Trilogy (Loki/Sigyn)- three books, first two (called Frigid and Fallen) are complete, and I'm in the process of finishing the last couple chapters of the third (Fearless). Yes, it's a long read, but it's worth it. Pretty sure the people I gifted "new year" to would adamantly agree. Alrighty then. Hope you come back for chapter 2! :-)


	2. Hello, My Name is Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the images I used for the characters' Twitter avatars, only edited them in photoshop, and I am not making a financial profit from them. No copyright infringement intended.  
> If you are reading this on your phone, depending on your screen size, you might need to slide the page a bit to get the full "screenshots" of the characters' Twitter conversations. Shouldn't be a problem. Okay, chapter 2, let's do this...
> 
> *Additional note as of October 2020:  
> I have split the "original version" of chapter two, therefore, if you are re-reading New Year, even though it looks like a TON of content disappeared, I assure you that I did not delete it, but simply moved it forward into chapter 3.

**_~7:00pm, January 15, 2019.....Almost one year ago~_ **

After an irresponsibly long hot evening shower, Loki sprawled out on his over-sized couch, tucking one arm behind his head and letting his eyelids fall closed. The bone-in, skin-on chicken with bay leaves, sage, onions and fingerling potatoes- his mum's recipe -that he'd prepared for dinner this morning, so it would be ready to pop in the oven when he got home tonight, was nearly done roasting, and since the only thing left to do was open the bottle of pinot gris chilling in his fridge, he was happy to just lie here and relax until Sig texted him that she was walking back to his place from her office down on Franklin in Tribeca.

Well, " _HAPPY to relax"_ wasn't an accurate description of his current emotional situation at the moment. He was seeing less and less of her lately. She'd spent all of New Years Day with him- all over him, actually -and it had been everything he could have wanted in response to giving her the very first copy of his book that day. But since then, it had been constant work, and it was just...

 _Depressing_.

It was already cold and grey and winter, and now it seemed like his _real_ sun was slipping further and further behind the clouds. He could take it in stride though- or at least try to. He could rationalize it as nothing more than the hangover after an unforgettable night of drinking and dancing and deep kissing and fucking with his girl. It was just a momentary dip in mood, and he'd be back to normal after a bit- after she got a break from the initial first quarter rush of demanding clients. They'd have more time then. Even though he hated it, he could handle the distance for a bit longer.

He was working nonstop as well, which was good for a distraction from his darkening mental state. Today had been the official release of _Looking for Sunlight_ in bookstores everywhere:

The release was both domestic and international, so he was exhausted from the several book signings uptown until noon, then meeting Val and his publicist in the village for lunch, and another couple hours of signing in Brooklyn. This over the top schedule would continue into February. He enjoyed meeting his readers, of course, but it was taxing to do so when he was desperate to start his next book. He _needed_ to write. It was as vital to his health as proper diet and exercise.

Speaking of exercise- after the Brooklyn signing, rather than come home and attempt to take it easy- to take a _breath_ -he'd gone to his gym for an hour, _then_ he'd finally come home. If only he could have just skipped the gym for _once_ , but he just couldn't let this 35 (almost 36) year old body lose its appeal, could he. His morning jogs around town were great cardio and woke him up better than his favorite coffee, but they didn't do much for the upper body, and he was way too bloody vain to not have at least _some_ definition in his shoulders and arms. His back, too. And chest. And abs. Can't miss leg day either. Oh, but he had to do it just right- lean, but not _bulky_. He'd even paid Sam (his trainer) a _generous_ extra fee to develop an individualized plan just for him. Because, yes, he was _that_ screwed up in the head. So screwed up that he didn't put up a fight- just gave an exaggerated eyeroll -when Sam labeled his gym sessions the "Starboys Only" program on some fitness app. 

_"I do NOT want to look like my brother, understood?"_

_"Lo-man, your big bro OWNS a gym, and trains fuckin' A-listers. I HOPE you don't wanna look like him. Swear to god, I got ya covered, Starboy. No crazy shredding."_

Honestly, ever since the release of that first book (he'd pay for the title for the rest of his life) back in 2016, he had developed disturbing new mental problems in his already... _tricky_...brain. Too many "entertainment journalists" brought up his physical appearance when his name came up in conversation, saying that he should forget writing and become a leading man on screen instead. Oh come _off_ it- as though he had any training for that, or any such desire to do so. Naturally he was flattered to some extent, but more than that, it felt so insulting to his _actual_ career. He was so damn paranoid now that his fans didn't care about his books- just his looks. Granted, the lit critics rarely mentioned such things, and the vast majority of them had written gushing reviews about both his novels, but still. He didn't want to lose readers for any reason, even the fickle ones who cared about that nonsense. At least he could get away with eating like a horse, which was perhaps his favorite past time. Well, no. Being inside Sig topped that list.

By hell, just the _thought_ \- now he had quite a situation growing in his joggers. Running a hand through his loose, still damp towel-dried hair, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table and sent her a text:

**_Loki: Are you almost_ _done_ _with work, love?_**

**_Sig: Hey you 😍😍_ **

**_Loki: Very cute heart eyes,_ _but that's not_ _quite the_**

**_answer I was looking for._ **

**_Sig: Easy there, impatient_ _boy._ _W_ _as just_ _about_ _to text_ _you._**

**_Walking_ _out the_ _door now._**

**_Loki: I'll admit to being_ _a_ _bit impatient. I'_ _m_** _**starving.** _

**_Sig: Can't fault you for that._ _I am t_ _oo. Worked_ _right_ _through_ _lunch._**

**_So what_ _delicious_ _food did_ _you_ _whip up this_ _time? Still_**

**_can't_ _believe_ _I_ _landed a_ _man who can cook btw_**

**_Loki: I didn't specify_ _that_ _I was_ _starving_** _**for food.** _

_  
**Sig: Oh** _ **_fuck_ _me..._**

**_Loki: Uh...I intend to._ _Hurry up._ **

**_Sig: Yes, sir._ **

Biting into a smile- _"yes, sir"_ . _..god DAMN_ -Loki left her on read just for the fun of it and opened up Twitter to mindlessly scroll through his notifications. One in particular stood out. It was so clever, and so true. It was a tweet from a New York Times lit crit, Miquel Dylan, and it said, _“ **Street name: LO’s Forever Dream Girl (LFDG). 100% Pure. Highly recommend. Careful. She’s a helluva drug. #LookingForSunight is out now. @LokisWriting**.”_

It reminded him why he could handle the stretching of space and time keeping her from him- why he wanted to stay in this orbit around her, even if it was painful to do sometimes.

He tapped the "retweet with comment" option with his thumb, and squinted up at the ceiling, thinking of the best (and equally clever) response. It needed to be something Sig would like. Something that might give her a laugh. He loved making her laugh. When he landed on it, he typed quickly− _“ **Hello, my name is Loki, and I am an addict”**_ −then sent his words off into the vapid, self-promoting internet wilderness without a second thought.

His eyes blew wide then.

_Twenty THOUSAND retweets? Holy f-_

Had all his followers turned on tweet notifications from him? What had it been, _seven seconds?_ Head shaking in a bit of shock, he sat up and pulled a hand down his face. He pushed to his feet and went to the kitchen to pull the wine out so it could warm up just a bit. Hand on the fridge handle, he heard his phone ding at him, and he leaned over to eye it on the island. 

Forever dream girl herself− _@SigNFrey88_ −had responded to the tweet. Silly girl- staring down at her phone while walking. Hopefully, she wouldn't walk straight into a street sign. Taking the corkscrew out of the drawer, he smiled at his screen as he read her response− _“ **Lovesick fool of a man. #justsayno**.”_

So she was going to use his own words against him? Arching an eyebrow, he smirked. Alright then. If she wanted to play this little game with him, then he could play this game, too. Arching an eyebrow, he smirked, typed _“ **Who dis.** ”_, and hit the send button.

He pulled the cork out, the distinct _“POP”_ sound bouncing off the high ceilings, wall to wall windows, hardwood floors and granite counters with an echo akin to an ancient cathedral. His phone dinged at him again just as he turned around to grab two glasses from the top shelf. Once again, she’d responded almost instantaneously− _“ **You did not just-”**_ −along with a crying laughing emoji and once again, he hoped a street sign didn’t jump right in front of her as she walked.

He set the glasses down, chuckling at the thought of her turning more than a few heads while bursting into tears from laughing so hard. Tapping out a response with one hand, he filled the glasses with the other. He stopped when he got the notification that his brilliant brother, the aptly named blue check _@MyArmIsThor_ , had apparently decided to join the conversation. Oh, he couldn't _wait_ to see this. Pursing his lips, he read Thor’s words− _“ **I taught him that. Your welcome”**_

_Oh for-_

It was as moronic as the “who dis” phrase that Loki had indeed learned from the blond oaf a month ago. After all this time, his brother _still_ didn’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re” and how to use them correctly. He rolled his eyes. Good god, did Thor have any idea how _easy_ he made it for him to mock the hell out of him? Yes, it was low hanging fruit, but come _on_. Shaking his head, he sighed, uninterested in responding maturely. After all, he was the youngest of the family. He sent a tweet back− _“ ***You’re (contraction meaning “you are”)** ”_

_Literally_ ten seconds later, he received a response from his brother- **_"I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP”_**...in all caps...red angry face emoji included.

"OH MY GOD," Loki laughed, his sides splitting so hard that he had to grab the counter so he wouldn't fall over.

"I...know...where...you...sleep..." he was wheezing, barely able to spit out his brother's words. Oh he could hear it in his head. The all caps and that angry red face only added to the absurdity.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he leaned down, setting his elbows on the island counter and put his forehead in his hands.

"Yes, Thor. You know where I sleep. Well done. Good luck with that."

This twitter conversation was stupid as hell, but he couldn’t stop responding to this idiot. One more tweet, and then he would put his phone down, and get back to setting the dinner plates on the table.

He typed _“ **My girl would kill you first, and why are you shouting?** ”_ then sent it without a second thought.

"Aw, oh, oh no..." he trailed off into a series of non-English curses. Speaking of stupid as hell- he’d ended the damn thing with a question mark rather than making a flat statement to end the back and forth. Gritting his teeth, he softly banged his forehead against the refrigerator door.

_Whatever. Is what it is._

Stupid or not, he wasn't wrong about his girl. He was about ninety-five percent positive that Sig _would_ stab his brother if he showed up in the middle of the night. To be fair, it would just be from the shock of waking up to a strange sound and seeing a dark figure in the room, rather than having it out for anyone who tried to attack her boyfriend. He frowned at the thought, silly though it was to get his feathers ruffled over a hypothetical situation wherein his little lover did not try to physically defend him against a man who weighed probably twice as much as her. And truly, Thor's use of all caps was annoying as hell. Eyes rolling, he set his phone down, and picked up one of the glasses, drinking every drop of it in one go. It had been a long day.

Then his phone dinged at him again, and he would have ignored it, since it was probably just Thor snapping back at him but resisting curiosity had never been in his nature, so, he picked it up. His shoulders relaxed when he saw Sig had responded instead− _“ **Do NOT bring me into this shit again, Loki. #loveyouthough**”_

"Thanks for the support, darling," he said to the empty room, snorting quietly under his breath and refilling his glass as he looked at the screen. His eyebrows came together when he noticed the time, then he opened his previous text conversation with Sig, and quickly tapped a message:

**_Loki: It's a twelve minute_ _walk_ _from your office_ _to my place,_**

**_and you_ _left twenty minutes_ _ago. Are you alright?_ **

**_Where are you?_ **

He heard the front door just then, which was hidden by about ten feet of kitchen wall, opening slowly, keys jingling in the door handle, then the click of heels on the floor.

"Fucking finally," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temples. He'd been on the verge of going out to look for her, which was a bit ridiculous considering she'd just tweeted at him, and had seemed perfectly fine. Protective, scratch that- _possessive_ much?

Her heels stopped after about three steps instead of continuing down the hall, which he assumed meant she was pausing to hang up her coat since he could hear a zipper and a soft shuffle of fabric. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing a bit at the tangles. Apparently he needed to add a haircut to his already cram-packed schedule. He bent down to search for a hair tie in the catch all drawer on the other side of the kitchen island as he waited for her to come into the room. Once he found it, he put it between his teeth and finger-combed the too long locks away from his face.

"Sig?" he spoke with the hair tie in his mouth, eyes on the floor as he gathered his hair loosely at the nape of his neck.

She didn't answer.

"What, are you waiting for me to come pick you up and carry you in here like royalty or something?" he asked, half joking.

Still no answer.

"Sigyn?" he called to her again, frowning at her silence.

He wound the elastic twice and dropped his arm. Honestly, the lack of sound was getting to his nerves a bit. She had yet to speak, and now he was conjuring up horrible scenarios where some sick obsessed fan had assaulted his girlfriend in a dark alley then stolen her keys, and was now inside his apartment. On reflex, his fingers grazed the clip of his fully serrated tactical pocket knife that stayed on his waistband- even joggers while inside his apartment -at all times.

He'd been attacked by an absolutely nauseating serial...uh... _creep_ (to put it lightly) in the middle of the day back in England when he was seventeen, and even though he'd successfully muscled his way free without a weapon, he'd kept a blade on him ever since. Taking private and group combat level 3 Krav Maga classes every Wednesday and Saturday at the Cary Building eleven blocks from his place for a decade now ensured that he damn well knew how and _when_ to use a knife, if the need should ever arise to do so (hopefully not). He hadn't been threatened physically in eighteen years, but he still felt naked and horribly vulnerable without the damn thing. It stayed under his pillow while he slept. It stayed in a protective dehumidifying case on the window sill built into the tiles next to him when he showered. This was one of the reasons he _hated_ flying. Can't have a blade on a plane, obviously. See: _tricky_ brain.

Thank god it didn't bother Sigyn in the slightest. More than that, she understood- _validated_ -the reason for it.

_"When you've truly been traumatized, you do what you must to cope," she'd told him, "I get it. It gives the control back to you- the control you NEED. Don't ever apologize for that."_

Bloody hell, he adored her. He really wouldn't ever get enough of her- just like he'd told the entire goddamn planet on a page inside a book he hoped she would read a thousand times.

His ex on the other hand- a woman he wouldn't shed a tear for if she ended up six feet under tomorrow (heartless?- more like _justified)_ -had hated it. Said he was paranoid, and that it scared her.

Yes, well...deal with it, Amora.

For the love, it's not as though he kept the blade on him just because he felt a bit _stabby_ sometimes. 

That had been the most pathetic "relationship" of his life. So pathetic that if she'd said _"either that knife goes, or I go",_ he would have told her to make sure the door didn't hit her ass on the way out. Wretched woman. The sex had been the only thing holding them together, and even _that_ had been sub-par. He hadn't understood at the time why sleeping with that woman always felt so empty- like he was devoid of all connection to this human being despite _literally_ being connected to her. How was it possible for him to be inside an attractive woman without a condom, not pull out (the pill plus a clean bill of health had been a bonus), yet not love it- not _crave_ more of it? Apparently it _was_ possible. He'd played with fire, as in screwed around with goddamn _heroin_ more than a few times thanks in most part to her. Not because she was into that brand of poison and had convinced him to give it a shot (unfunny pun _not_ intended), but because he was just trying to numb the _beyond_ extra pain she'd caused on top of a life that was already in a downward spiral. He hadn't become addicted to that death drug, and he couldn't be more grateful that he'd avoided that particular hell, but it had been a low point nonetheless. If it hadn't been for writing _Starboy_ that year, 2015 would have been a complete waste.

_God, please don't make me use this knife in my own house. I JUST had the floors waxed._

Looking sideways, he arched an eyebrow. Of all things that could have popped into his head when his cortisol was spiking, blood pressure rising, heart pumping faster, pushing extra oxygen to every muscle, his body preparing itself for a fight, _THAT'S_ what his brain came up with?- _"But...but what about the hardwood?!"_

He couldn't help but laugh. Loudly. It felt like the laugh itself was bursting straight through his sternum. It was like reading Thor's hilarious "I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP" threat all over again. He stopped abruptly though when Sigyn finally came around the corner.

"What's so funny?" she asked, leaning her shoulder against the door frame, her hand on her opposite hip, ankles crossed.

For a split second, all he felt was relief. It was just Sig. All safe and sound. No worries.

Floors spared.

But then his brain processed the information that his retinas were _screaming_ at it, and his jaw nearly fell to the floor. She was wearing those boots he loved on her- the knee high, four inch-heeled, black suede ones.

And nothing else.

"Fuck me..." he breathed.

"Uh," she smirked, "I intend to."

He made a beeline for her, and dragged her to his couch. Then he dropped to his knees, yanked her to the edge of the cushion, and pulled her thighs over his shoulders.

* * *

**_~Two days later, 5:50pm, January 17, 2019~_ **

Sigyn needed a break. She'd been slumping over this drafting table for a thousand years (8 hours, same thing), making handwritten corrections on the drawing of a new gallery on 6th that Carol had rendered digitally in AutoCAD based off of her design. God, her back was _killing_ her, and her eyes hurt so much. They'd probably been crossed since lunch. Carol was a talented drafter and architectural illustrator, but she'd dropped the ball on this one. And since she was on vacation through next week, it was up to Sigyn to make the necessary changes for the building contractor to look at on Monday. Heaven help her, she was so inept with technical drawing. _Sketches_ were her thing. She could come up with an aesthetically pleasing, yet practical design overnight. That's why they paid her the big bucks. Okay well...not _New York_ big, but it was good money. But her knowledge of design software was limited, so here she was, using an archaic compass and T-square like it was still 1970 or something. She was about to absolutely lose it if she found one more mistake. What had Carol been thinking? The dimensions were all kinds of wrong.

She sat back in her seat, took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes. Get up. Stretch the legs. Maybe do an impromptu office yoga session. Or go to the restroom since she'd been ignoring a full bladder for awhile now. After relieving herself quickly, purposefully avoiding her colleagues because she didn't have the energy to be polite right now, she hurried back into her office, closed the door, and picked her phone up from the table. 

She could use a few moments of laughing at the ridiculous twitter conversation she’d had with Darcy (and Loki and Bucky and Thor…unintentionally) to give her overworked mind a chance to regroup. It had started with Darce replying to the conversation she’d had with Loki and Thor a few days ago, which would have been okay if Darce’s response had been just about _anything_ else.

_[@DarcyLuvsTasers](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/deep-w-watermark.jpg) (replying to @SigNFrey88 and @LokisWriting and @MyArmIsThor): “ **Read it straight through and GOD DAMN. Does he fuck as deep as he writes? Asking for a friend. #ohgodyes “**_

_[@SigNFrey88](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/DARCY-w-watermark.jpg) (replying to @DarcyLuvsTasers): “ **DARCY Omg you didn’t untag them** “_

_[@MyArmIsThor](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/block-and-report-watermark.jpg) (replying to @DarcyLuvsTasers and @SigNFrey88 and @LokisWriting): “ **WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?! #blockedandreported”**_

_[@SgtBuckyIsntHere](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/doll-what-watermark.jpg) (replying to @DarcyLuvsTasers and @SigNFrey88 and 2 others): “ **Doll. What even. #heartbroken**”_

_[@LokisWriting](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/thirsty-freak-watermark.jpg) (replying to @SgtBuckyIsntHere and @DarcyLuvsTasers and 2 others): “ **Your woman needs professional help, JB. Darcy, this is what TEXTING is for, you thirsty freak. Thor, for the love of god, stop yelling.** ”_

_[@DarcyLuvsTasers](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/snowflakes-watermark.jpg) (replying to @SgtBuckyIsntHere and @SigynFrey88 and @LokisWriting): “ **So many snowflakes in this chat. Thor legit blocked me AHAHAHA. And Bucky is the only man I’m THIRSTY AF for # bigbrooklynboy**”_

_[@SgtBuckyIsntHere](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/train-tracks-watermark.jpg) (replying to @DarcyLuvsTasers and @SigNFrey88 and @LokisWriting): “ **Uh- Almost fell onto the train tracks at Franklin Ave just now. Put down your phone, doll. Later, guys. PS: Lo, sorry man, I’ll look for head docs for her ASAP.** ”_

_[@SigNFrey88](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/massive-man-watermark.jpg) (replying to @SgtBuckyIsntHere and @LokisWriting and @DarcyLuvsTasers): “ **LMFAO ‘Bucky has left the chat’ Hey, Darce, I’ve got a better one for you: #massivemanhattanman**”_

_[@LokisWriting](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/no-comment-watermark.jpg) (replying to @SigNFrey88 and @DarcyLuvsTasers and @SgtBuckyIsntHere): “ **Christ almighty, Sig. NO COMMENT.** ”_

_[@SigNFrey88](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/dream-boy-watermark.jpg) (replying to @LokisWriting): “ **See you after work, #foreverdreamboy.**”_

_[@LokisWriting](http://frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/loki-signing-off-watermark.jpg) (replying to @SigNFrey): “ **Dear god, no more twitter for you today. TEXT me, sweetheart. (Apologies, everyone!) #lokisigningoff.**”_

"Big Brooklyn Boy...god...poor Bucky..." she laughed out loud, covering her mouth lest someone- most likely Quill -just invite himself in to ask what the joke was.

Dammit though- scrolling back through the conversation reminded her that she'd nearly responded to Darcy's original question with "YES HE DOES" before thinking better of it and texting her instead. And now she was thinking about last night, technically this morning, when she'd awakened in Loki's bed to his mouth on her neck at 2am. He'd pulled her on top of him, and-

_STOP. You have work to do._

Sighing heavily, she sank back into her chair, and picked up her pencil, tapping the end of it on the table while trying not to think about how accurate her impromptu "massive Manhattan man" hashtag was. Ten measly seconds or so later, she heard a knock on her door. Taking her glasses off again and setting her elbows on the table, she put her head in her hands and shoved her protractor away with her elbow, growling into her palms. Guaranteed it was her assistant Alison who she'd made accidental eye contact with on her way back into her office. Sigyn wanted to tell her to save it- whatever _it_ was -for later. Anything the 21-year old intern needed could be dealt with by one of the other architects here. She glanced at her watch- _NO...5:58pm_ -tomorrow was coming way too fast. She despised Friday deadlines. It was just too much pressure. She'd be staying late after 6 to get this project done, but she'd already known that as soon as she'd unrolled Carol's drawing this morning.

Why did January have to be so rushed every year? It was like clockwork. Get back from the holiday break and BOOM. Suddenly the clients needed this and that and they needed it _NOW_. Her third meeting with Marianne of Draper Design House would be tomorrow morning because the woman just _HAD_ to see a different set of blueprints- the mediocre ones she had given up on and pushed aside earlier today -at an ungodly hour.

_"I have a brunch meeting at Bluestone Lane on January 18, Ms. Frey. You do know where that is, don't you? East 89th and 5th? The park IS a bit out of your way, with you working all the way down there, I suppose. Anyhow, my niece's birthday party is after that, and my mother is flying in from Chicago shortly after, so I will have my driver arrive early and fit you in at 7:30 am SHARP. If that doesn't work for you, I'm sure Jeff at the firm in Lenox Hill can make it work."_

What kind of _witch_ emails something like that? Oh how she _adored_ not-so-thinly veiled, passive aggressive threats. Upper east siders could go fuck themselves with their jagged diamond tiaras for all she cared. Except she did care. For a good seventy thousand net reasons, she cared. Bills in NYC added up fast.

There was an impossibly arrogant air about these blue bloods that made her want to punch every single one of them in the face. They made Loki's eleven million net worth look like minimum wage, and they would look down their noses at him as much as they would anyone else. He wasn’t _old money_. He didn’t have over a hundred years of multigenerational wealth like they did. An Odinson wasn’t akin to a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt. Yes, he'd started off much higher up the ladder than most of the population as a result of his father's rapid rise in the Manhattan real estate game, and he was well aware of his privilege- of the fact that he'd spent 6 years at Harvard, earning a BA and an MA and had no student loans to pay off, for instance -but he deserved every bit of success he'd achieved as an _author_. He could be strutting around, acting like he was better than everyone else, like his good looks or his top-selling books made him more worthy of the air that every other person needed just to survive.

But he didn't.

Admittedly he was a total clothes horse. He loved those unnecessarily expensive brand name designer threads. But oh, he wore them _SO_ well, and he did his own laundry, so she could forgive him for it. And okay fine, his measly little 8.5 oz bottle of shampoo cost nearly fifty dollars _,_ and he paid three hundred for his haircuts, which was a bit...excessive. But at the same time, this was a man with a brand new, unbelievably sexy, hundred thousand dollar sports car that he _only_ drove around upstate.

_"I got an F-type SVR to PLAY with, Sig, not to brag about it. I can't feel this engine do what it wants to do if I'm just idling in city traffic. If I wanted to show off, I would have bought a Ferrari."_

Riiiiight...as though that impossibly loud 575-horsepower V8 wasn't made for turning heads, but okay, love.

To his credit though, if he didn't feel like walking two dozen blocks (understandable) to Fulton Street for an editorial meeting at HarperCollins, he would take the _train_ from Canal to the World Trade Center station like some plebeian. A really well-dressed, well-groomed, gorgeous plebeian.

Now, if she could just sit here in peace with her earphones in and let the world outside her office disappear, she could be done in time to meet said gorgeous plebeian at Black Tap for dinner at 8:00. She did _not_ have time for interruptions, and here Ali was, doing exactly that. She slumped further into her chair when the door opened.

"Please, Ali," she said, voice muffled behind her hands, "I don't mean to sound rude, but if you are about to say anything other than _'I'm heading home, see you tomorrow'_ then please just take it to Ben or Quill or someone else. Alright?" She groaned and dropped her hands to the table, softly banging her forehead into her knuckles.

"Wrong person, love."

Her head shot up, eyes blown wide as Loki strolled into her office with his hands in his pockets, wearing a crooked little smirk that made her want to push him onto her tufted, blue velvet office sofa, sit on his lap and repeat what had happened at 2 this morning. Not a wise use of her time at the moment.

"What are you-"

"Stealing you away from this stylishly decorated prison," he said simply, as though he didn't have a care in the world.

As though Marianne wouldn't take her business to stupid _Lenox Hill Jeff_ when she showed up with that mess of a drawing that was rolled up in the corner- that mess that she would not be able to fix before the meeting tomorrow. As though the meeting on Monday wasn't going to hell even if she killed herself trying to get this damn thing right _all weekend._

She shook her head, giving a sad little chuckle, and gestured to the paper in front of her. "I can't leave yet, I'm sorry. I have to present this on Monday, and I am so not ready."

Walking around the table, he leaned down, set his hands on the arms of her chair, and pressed his mouth firmly to hers for a few dizzying seconds, then he pulled back to look her in the eyes.

"Monday is several days from now," he tilted her face up, and leaned in to kiss her again- once, twice, three times -then smiled. "You can return to this tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is already crazy enough without having this hanging over my head," she said, giving him an apologetic look, "and you and I weren't going to meet for another two hours anyway, Loki. It's not like I'm not breaking any promises here."

Lips set in a thin line, he blinked at her a few times, then stood upright. "I've barely seen you all week. All _month_ actually."

"What?" she frowned up at him for a moment, then looked away, not wanting to concede to the truth in his words.

 _Don't get defensive. He's not looking for a fight_.

"Did you hit your head on the pavement on the way here?" she winced as soon as she said it.

_Way to go. Are YOU looking for a fight?_

"I spent all Tuesday night with you," she added quickly, softening her tone. "Then I came over again last night as well."

She saw his jaw jut out for a second, but he corrected it quickly.

_Please don't be mad at me, Loki. I'm doing my best._

"You crawled in my bed at, what," he scratched the back of his neck then dropped his hand, gesturing to the wall clock over her desk, "one in the morning?"

She turned to look at the thing- a black and gold, vintage, deco timepiece -and watched the second hand move steadily around the face, one number to the next. Constant. Unstopping.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Each second was just one more second of her life line being pushed further and further behind her. One more second that was now part of an ever increasing past, stolen from her ever decreasing future.

He was right to want to _steal her away._ They only had a fraction of time on this planet, and neither knew how long the other had. How many more seconds, minutes, hours, days, months... _years_...did they have left in them?

_All my new years are yours._

Eyes slamming shut to stop a tear from falling free, she reached up to rub them. She didn't want him to see her cry. She didn't want him to see her fall apart for the thousandth time. She didn't want to be a weepy, neurotic girlfriend who couldn't handle the stress of every day life, yet here she was again. It was so damn embarrassing. So...unappealing. He hadn't fallen for this disaster of a woman standing in front of him.

She'd done everything she could at the start to be only what she saw as the best version of herself for him- funny, driven, sexy, smart, capable -but she could only fight for so long to push away what felt like enough flaws to fill a hundred solar masses before the gravity of simply being _human_ made her collapse in on herself like a dying star. So much for being his _sunlight_ \- soon the only evidence of her existence would be the black hole she left behind in her place. She could not, for _two years_ , pretend to be 100% in control of her emotions, to keep a stiff upper lip even when the going gets tough, to _man up_ and _grow a pair_ , to never feel unattractive and let it get to her head that he might not want her because of it, to never burst into tears because the hamburger she'd ordered medium rare showed up well done and _THAT WAS THE LAST STRAW._

No, far less than two years, she'd shown her hand six measly weeks after they'd met when he'd knocked on her door halfway into February 2017. When she'd opened it, his hands had been behind his back, saying he had something he wanted to give her. Then he'd twisted his arm around back in front of him, and cradled the cutest little black kitten she'd ever seen against his chest. She'd absolutely _lost_ it, ugly crying so hard that he'd stepped inside, closed her door, set the poor kitten down on her couch, and offered to keep it for himself. He'd apologized all over himself, swearing that he hadn't meant to put that much pressure on her, that he should have thought better of giving her something that she would have to feed and clean up after when she was so busy already. God, she'd _hated_ that he was seeing that side of her so _early_ into the wonderful thing they had going. He would know that her moods were more than often confusing and mentally exhausting to interpret, and he would _leave_. Surely a kitten would have delighted her, right? She'd only mentioned how much she wanted a kitten a hundred times within the six weeks he'd known her!

But the crying in front of him that day wasn't remotely related to the adorable little ball of fur rolling around on her couch. It had been because her 55-year old _married_ boss had come into her office, closed the door, and said he wanted to take her out for drinks after work. The man had...not taken it well...when she'd refused. He'd pushed back, flirted even harder, saying she shouldn't dress in tight skirts like that then play hard to get, and he'd only left her alone after she'd told him that she had a boyfriend. _"Well, far be it for me to encroach on another man's territory. See you Monday. Wear something less distracting"-_ like she was already a different man's _property,_ and that was the only reason suitable for not trying to fuck her.

And after that shitty day, the man who "owned her" had come over, acting like the sweetest, sexiest, most thoughtful human being ever, and her first thought had been _"he's trying to trap me, isn't he."_ She had felt so unbelievably pathetic for thinking it. Thus the tears. She'd explained everything, then he'd said _all_ the right things to make her feel safe and secure and genuinely cared for. He'd hugged her and asked if she would be mad at him if he _"hit that piece of shit with his car."_ They'd laughed for five minutes straight, then he'd forced her to name her kitten before she started crying again.

She should explain her tears to him _now_ , just as she'd explained her tears that night, just as she'd explained _thousands_ of tears since then. She shouldn't make him guess what was wrong. She should open her mouth and actually _tell_ him that she was crying because he'd thrown her off her guard by showing up at her office unexpectedly, and she felt like he was backing her into a corner. She was already panicking about losing a client, about losing credibility in the industry, and now she felt like he was accusing her of ignoring _his_ needs. If he was this upset with her busy work schedule, why couldn't he just offer to grab some take-out, bring it back here, and eat here with her just to be with her? She really was giving him every second she could. She'd given up precious seconds of her already lacking sleep last night because she'd wanted to give those seconds, which had turned into twenty minutes, to _him_ instead.

"Yes, it was late when I got to your place," she nodded, slowly turning away from the clock to face him again, "but then we had sex shortly after that, so-"

"So what?" he spoke over her, his voice tight and eyes narrowed. "So you met your sex quota with me for the day, and I should just run along because that must be all I'm good for?"

Her mouth fell open, and she pushed up from her chair. "Of _course_ not. I didn't say that at _all_. Don't put words in my mouth."

How could he think that's what she thought of him? That he was just some sex object? Had he lost his mind? No, that's not what he believed. He was just being defensive. Just like she was. They both needed to back off of each other. One of them should apologize. Soon. Guaranteed, she was going to be the one stuck doing it. Again.

Loki released a bit of the tension in his jaw, looking over every part of her face. "Then don't pull away from me."

She scoffed quietly. There it was. She knew this would happen. He would somehow manage to spin this into something that was her fault. It wasn't fair. He wasn't being fair to her at _all_.

"Did you come to my office intent on trying to guilt me into abandoning my job for you?"

Couldn't he understand she was in over her head here? Couldn't he just trust her enough to know she wasn’t brushing him off? She would do _anything_ for him. Anything in her power at least. She didn't want only New Years Day. She wanted _every_ day.

 _Then TELL HIM that!_ _Don't get mad at him for not being a fucking mind reader! He just needs to hear you say it. You don't say it enough. HE tells you how much he wants you ALL THE TIME. Two years into a relationship, even with all the breakdowns he's seen, this man standing right here in front of you still craves you as much as he did at the start- LO's Forever Dream Girl. A helluva drug._

"Abandoning your job?” he repeated her words back at her, giving her a look. “Come _on_ , Sig, I'm just asking you to pack it up for the day, since it's after closing, and everyone else has already gone home except for you. It would be nice to see you before I'm already passed out in bed for once."

She chewed her lip, trying to stop it from quivering. Damn it. Stop. Crying.

"You're acting like I've forgotten you exist," she said shakily, her body trembling with a miserable combination of guilt and hurt feelings. "Like you think I've _chosen_ not to be around you. I'd give anything to have the luxury of just doing whatever the hell I want, when I want, and throwing down my credit card for everything I want without a care for whether or not I'll be able to pay it off in full or be stuck in the endless cycle of minimum payments just so I can make rent-"

"Sig, darling," he stopped her, his eyes wide and lips parted, "that is _not_ something you need to worry about. Just tell me how much, and I'll-"

"I don't need your money, Loki," she said, shaking her head quickly.

Nothing would feel so humiliating as asking him to loan her some cash. More like _lots_ of cash. Shit, that was an entirely different insecurity that she had _not_ meant to bring up.

He tilted his head sideways, eyeing her carefully. "You just said you're worried about making rent, or did I mishear you?"

"I'm not _worried_ about it," she corrected herself, feeling so _small_ next to him- as small as her dwindling bank account. "That's not what I meant. I can pay my own bills. I just need to be more cautious of my spending."

"Okay, well," he ran a hand through his hair, then reached up to her face, running his thumb across her cheekbone, "you don't need to be cautious at _all_ because I can take care of you, love. Anything you need or want, I want you to have it. All of it. Any of it. However much."

"I told you I don't need your money," she tugged on his wrist a little, enough to get him to let go.

The hand on her cheek in combination with the concerned look in his eyes was too _protective_. But wasn't that a ridiculous thing to be bothered by? The man she loved wanted to keep her safe- wanted to take care of her. How had her generation- her parents' generation actually -managed to take that concept, flip it over on its head, and get away with labeling it as toxic? What exactly was so wrong with it? It didn't mean she'd been bought and paid for just like his car. She wasn't his _toy_. He'd never treated her like that. Ever. And she would do the exact same for Loki if their roles were reversed. She wanted to give him the world too. She just didn't have the funds to do it right now.

And that made her feel like the most useless person in the universe.

She met his eyes again, but this time, they didn't look protective. He just looked annoyed. Offended, maybe.

"How does me telling you that I want to give you _everything_ equate to me saying that you _need_ my money? Those are two entirely different things."

His tone left something to be desired. What was the word?

 _Patronizing_.

This absurdly handsome, highly intelligent, critically acclaimed multimillionaire with a masters degree from Harvard, a hundred thousand fans, and a goddamn penthouse in Manhattan was belittling her comprehension skills. Maybe in another timeline, in an alternate universe somewhere in an unknown dimension, a different version of Sigyn Frey could take Loki Odinson's words and re-frame them into something positive. _That_ Sigyn would do well to do so because Loki had asked a simple question- asked for clarification of something that _ought_ to be reconsidered. But there would be no quiet self reflection here in this office on Franklin Street in Manhattan, NYC on January 17, 2019. _This_ Sigyn was going to, without a second's hesitation, snap cruelly at the man for whom she was head over heels all because she didn't care for his _tone_.

"Unlike starboys who can just sit back and enjoy the ride, I have to actually _work_ to pay the bills. I mean, I'm down here every day working my tail off, yet I only make pennies compared to you! What have _you_ done that's so amazing and makes the world fawn all over you?"

The last word fell from her lips like a precariously placed bottle of acid on a table spilling over the edge, burning a hole through the floor that was supposed to keep them from falling straight to the volatile, molten mess at the center of the planet. She put her face in her hands.

_Oh shit._

_Oh no no no no no..._

The silence was deafening. It hurt her ears. It burned her eyes. It kicked her in the stomach. It reached right inside her chest and clawed at her heart, though every word she'd spat at him made it sound as though she didn't have one.

She didn't want to look up at his face. She didn't want to see the pain written all over it. She didn't want to see his beautiful eyes brimming with fresh tears. She didn't know what to say to make this better. _"I didn't mean it...I'm just tired and frustrated and nervous about Monday"_ wasn't good enough. Not even close. What a miserable and pathetic excuse.

He finally broke the silence, his voice shaking and strained, and she hated that she was the reason it sounded so _broken_.

"I wrote a goddamn _book_ for you, Sig."

She cried silently behind her hands, her shoulders shaking.

_Don't leave me, Loki. I know I don't deserve you at all, but dear god..._

_PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME._

"Guess that wasn't enough for the girl I'd die for in a heartbeat."

He walked out the door without another word, leaving a pile of too fragile, shattered glass that _used_ to be that girl he would die for behind him.

Maybe it was because she was exhausted. Maybe it was because she didn't feel like she had all her parts- like there were too many fragments of vital organs missing. But rather than run after him, she fell into her chair and cried harder, swearing to herself that she would go to his place and make things right with him as soon as she finished this stupid project. However, five minutes after picking the pencil back up, she scribbled "DO NOT SCALE OFF DIMENSIONS" at the bottom of the page, then threw the pencil across the room.

"Fuck this," she said to the empty room, forcefully pushing her chair back from the table.

Grabbing her bag and coat, she ran out the door, grateful she'd worn flats. When she got to his building, she shouted _"hey, Mr. Henry!"_ to his doorman and blew right by the elevators because they were too damn _slow,_ then ran up the six flights of stairs to the top floor instead. Breathing hard, she jammed the key he'd given to her over a year ago into the lock and nearly fell into his apartment from pushing the door so hard.

 _"Loki?!"_ she called for him, slamming the door and turning the lock again. Her fingers were on the third dead bolt when suddenly he was right behind her back, his breath hitching quietly, his arms coming around her.

"I'm so so so so so sorry," she croaked, spinning in his hold to throw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck.

"I _adore_ the book. You can't imagine how much. It was so beautiful, and it was _more_ than enough. Writing that book was work. _Harder_ work than anything I've ever..." she trailed off, needing to pause because her voice was shaking so much that it was verging on unintelligible rambling.

Catching her breath, she leaned her head back to look him in the eyes. "I know it was _so_ painful to write it, but you did it. God...Loki...you are so much more than _just_ a starboy. I hate myself for saying that to you, because it could not be more untrue. You are _everything,_ and you deserve every bit of praise that all those fans and critics are giving you.”

_Please believe me._

She kept her eyes on his, hoping he could see that she meant it. These were her _true_ words, unlike that absolute trash she'd rattled off in her office.

"And don't you dare think, even for a second," she slid both of her freezing cold, glove-less hands from his neck to his face, "that I wouldn't die for you, too."

They spent most of that night clinging to each other- her legs around his hips, his hands in her hair -and it felt as incredible as ever. More than ever, to be honest. But far more than a mind-blowing orgasm (or three), she just wanted to be close to him. She wasn't looking for physical euphoria. She just wanted to love him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And, dying stars above, if only she'd known that in ten months he would be gone, she would have held him _so much_ _closer_... _  
  
  
_

To be continued...

_* Chapter song "Heartless" by Diplo and Julia Michaels (ft. Morgan Wallen) *_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Making those tweets was a TASK. But figuring out how the hell to upload them onto archive was way more difficult. I know I could have just typed them into the text editor (like I do with the "texting" between characters), but actually creating those screenshots added JUST THAT MUCH more life to this story, which is what I always aim to do. That's partly why it took a week longer to post this chapter than I'd intended, and for that, I'm truly sorry, guys. These are supposed to be weekly updates, not biweekly. Seriously. I'm so sorry.
> 
> 2\. Sigyn was listening to "Closure" by Teflon Sega in her office before Loki showed up (Jan 2019). 
> 
> 3\. The "Looking for Sunlight" book cover is my original art. Please do not repost. :-)
> 
> ***One final note:  
> Outside of having a good laugh while creating the twitter convos, this chapter was so hard to write- even more so than the first one, which I didn't think was possible. I would need 8,000 words to explain how emotionally wrecked I was with every keystroke on my laptop. There's way too much to unpack in this notes section, so I think I'm going to allow you all, without my input, to process this chapter however you will. Up to you. All thoughts, all feelings, every response- both big and small -belong to you, and you alone. All I ask is that you consider sharing them with me. It means everything to me to be able to talk to you guys. If you love/like this story, but you don't feel like leaving a comment, please just tap/click that kudos icon. It requires nothing of you, and it means a lot to me. So...win-win. 
> 
> Also, can you believe we are three weeks into January already?- Geezis 2020, take it EASY.  
> Love you all! -Jen


	3. A Helluva Drug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My excuse for the excessive three month wait for an update is "shit happens." Eloquent, I know. 
> 
> * NEW NOTE OCTOBER 2020 *  
> Once again, if you are re-reading New Year and think that I discarded a ton of content in this "revised edition", please know that all that content has just been pushed forward into the next chapter (chapter 4, obviously). No worries. It's all still there. I'm just making these chapter lengths more manageable than they had been.

**_~Present day, 12:07am, January 1, 2020~_ **

The anticipation was absolutely _killing_ her, the butterflies in her stomach twisting and turning and spinning more and more out of control as Loki bounded up the stairs of her building, his footsteps echoing louder and louder in her ears.

What the hell was he going to do when he saw her? She didn’t know what to make of him running up the steps this fast, leaving three flights of stairs in the dust like an all-star athlete doing stadiums at practice. Was he angry? Had he made his way up two blocks of crowded pavement from his place to hers to tell her off for breaking his heart, for ruining everything they'd had? His texts hadn’t _felt_ angry, but then again, interpreting tone from texts was notoriously tricky business.

She _really_ hoped he was here for another reason, but now that she was seconds from seeing him, that felt far too good to be true. But hadn't everything about him, about these last two and a half years (the past three months aside) been too good to be true? He hadn't just joked publicly with her on social, or texted thousands of times, or called _every single day._ He hadn't just cooked for her, taken her on spontaneous dates, cuddled on their couches, played with Sketch, or given her things she could _never_ afford to pay for herself. He hadn't _just_ published an entire _novel_ for her and written a heartfelt letter inside the cover.

He'd seen her at her worst.

And he'd loved her anyway.

Until October.

Feeling like she was on the verge of a panic attack, she kept her eyes on the landing across the hall, putting one hand on the wall to keep from stumbling as she backed into her apartment on shaking legs. The second his boot landed on the top step, he rounded the corner and came straight at her, his eyes zeroing in on her with the intensity of a starving man who was looking at something he wanted to eat. _Oh f-_

She grabbed the door frame for support because the way Loki moved- those long, confident strides, with a sort of swagger about his shoulders -wasmaking her knees weak. He had made her weak from day one. It's why she'd held onto his arms a little too long when she ran right smack into his chest outside of Ground Support exactly three years ago. How he managed to walk like that, yet not come across as a pompous prick, she would never know. To say he looked like an absolutely stunning, tall, raven-haired drink of water would be an insult to him.

Her not exactly 20/20 vision cleared as he neared her, and the fear of him being angry at her flew out the window. It was blatantly obvious now that he hadn’t bolted up those stairs like a horse out the gate to get into a verbal boxing match with her. Quite the opposite, he looked like he was going to crash into her, throw her over his shoulder, take her to her bedroom, and shove her face into the mattress.

She wouldn’t say no. She wouldn’t tell him to slow down. She wouldn’t put up a fight in the slightest.

She would let him rip this four thousand dollar dress to shreds if he wanted to.

And she would be an absolute _wreck_ after, because he would fall asleep as easily as ever, leaving her to spend every hour of the night freaking out over whether or not he still meant what he'd written to her in his book and how to pose that question to him without coming across as accusatory and piss him off. Just like she had last September. Just like the slow, painful build up to the first day of her once favorite month- the first day of many without Loki.

He spared her from having to answer the most fundamental question of all time- _to fuck, or not to fuck?_ -because he didn’t crash into her, which was no doubt for the best, but her heart sank nonetheless. Instead, he slowed his steps as he approached her, stopping completely just before he was within arms reach and gave her body a once over with wide eyes and parted lips. He looked from her hastily pulled up hair, all the way down to her pointy-toed stilettos. Then inch by tortuously slow inch, he raised his eyes back up her bare legs, hovering there for what felt like a lifetime to her. The clench of his jaw grew more pronounced, his chest rising and falling faster, and ten nerve-racking seconds later, he looked up at her face again.

“You must be trying to kill me,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together.

Her grip on the door frame tightened, clinging to the damn thing like her life depended on it. He thought _she_ was trying to kill _him?_ Good god, she could say the same about him. Not only did he look like he’d just stepped off a Diesel photoshoot in that hooded pullover and slim cut dark blue jeans, but she hadn’t heard his deep, gravelly baritone in _ages_ , and the sound of it made her want to drop to her knees in front of him. She exhaled slowly through her mouth, needing the extra oxygen to calm her rapidly spiking libido.

“No, not kill. Just...um...wow you.” She turned her head sideways, eyes rolling. Dammit, that could have been sexy if she hadn’t said _um_ like a nervous idiot.

His eyebrows raised just a touch, one a bit higher than the other. He hadn’t expected that. A quip, a sarcastic turn of phrase, or perhaps just a vengeful barely there smirk- anything but an earnest admission that Sigyn had worn that traffic-stopping dress and jaw-dropping heels _for him._ He felt like his heart was about to burst straight through his ribcage.

“Mission accomplished,” he said when she cautiously returned her eyes to his.

Another round of ten or so fireworks exploded in the distance, blazing bright enough to shine a light on her face in the dim hallway, showing just how watery and red her eyes were.

_Oh ...sweetheart...no..._

Every muscle in his body tensed up, poised to take those last two steps and wrap his arms around her. He just needed her to give him a sign- _any sign_ -that she wanted him to do it. Yes, she’d said _“please get up here”_ to him, but that didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t shove him away if he touched her.

Her last words to him prior to tonight had been _“get the hell out of my apartment!”_ and seeing her standing right there on the other side of the doorway, just like she had been in October, reminded him just how terrified he was that he might hear them again. Every step of the way here from his place had been one step closer to that possibility. He would have turned back had it not been for cranking the volume up in his AirPods. The steady, driving, beat had engulfed the panicky voice in his head screaming at him- _"have you lost your mind?...you’re on death row already!...a second rejection might as well be a fucking lethal injection!”_ Thank god for 5SOS shutting up the version of himself that he hated- the shaking coward running away from something _worth fighting for_ after the first shots fired -because two and a half blocks later, here he stood, staring at the only woman in the universe who could break him all over again.

_Please don't crush what's left of me into even smaller pieces, Sig._

She pressed her lips together, blinking at him silently. Had Loki just said "mission accomplished"?? Oh shit, he _had_.

Well then why was he just _standing_ over there? She was about ninety-nine percent positive that he would be _extremely_ receptive to her grabbing him by his collar and yanking him in here with her, but her legs were paralyzed by the fear of that _one_ percent biting her head off. The proverbial ball was in his court. However, he wasn’t making a move. He seemed frozen in place too. Apparently she needed to improvise. Her legs were stalling out on her, but she could still form words at least. For now.

“Were you at Strange? I thought maybe you would be there obviously.” She gestured to her dress. “I didn’t see you though.”

Brow creasing, Loki closed his eyes for a second. She was talking to him. This was a good sign, to be sure. It eased his fears the _slightest_ bit. Maybe she would let him in?

Oh god- _please._ His entire body was buzzing with enough heat to break into a sweat from staring at his girl's perfect thighs and remembering how goddamn amazing they felt wrapped around his head. He wet his lips, glaring at the _awful_ space between them, then lifted his eyes to hers again. What had she asked him?- had he gone to Strange?

“No, I stayed home,” he answered, sliding his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, and pushing loose strands of hair behind his ears with the other. Maddening things- they just _refused_ to stay in his hair tie.

“I was in a mood,” he added, as though that was somehow a decent excuse. Eyes rolling, he dropped his hand from his hair to hang useless at his side as that voice in his head started screaming at him again.

_Just TELL her. She’s letting you talk. She’s asking you questions. She’s not slamming her door in your face. She wanted you to be there tonight. She wanted to see you. She put on a mouth-watering ensemble for YOU. Tell her why you stayed home. “I was in a mood” is NOT an acceptable answer._

“This day is just too fucking...“ he trailed off, letting the open ended sentence dangle above those last few cruel feet separating him from her as he searched for the _right_ words.

Sigyn stared at him, eyes big and round and filling up with tears fast, waiting for him to finish his thought. This day is too fucking _what?_ Crippling? Gut wrenching? Devastating? Agonizing? All of the above? Why wasn’t he answering her silent plea for clarification, for an explanation, for a suitable adjective that would let her know he was just as broken as her? He was a _writer_ for hell's sake!- his verbal skills were off the chart!

_Just give me SOMETHING, Loki._

His silence stung more than that time, when she was sixteen, that her blind drunk uncle had come to their house at Christmas and slapped her face because she’d called him a racist piece of shit, which was a _thousand_ percent accurate. Her dad- an absolute _hero_ -had actually _thrown_ the man out their front door, then called the police and pressed charges for physical assault against his daughter. Dammit, she didn’t call her dad enough. There was an entire ocean between them, and he wouldn’t be around forever. He was sixty-five years old. What did he have- another ten years? Twenty at most? She should call him and tell him how grateful she was to him for protecting her, for providing for her, for being there for her every time some stupid boy broke her heart. God- so many kids had grown up with absentee fathers. Loki had an _awful_ relationship with his father. Come to think of it, maybe that was why he loved her dad so much. He deserved to have a father who loved him too. To think, her father _could have been_ that for him. Head shaking, she dropped her eyes from his face to stare at the floor tiles as a sudden, deep sense of dread clawed its way into her stomach, overtaking the thrill of seeing him again.

More fireworks exploded, making her nearly jump out of her skin. It was followed by delighted shouting and clapping, in the streets and next door. The partying didn’t usually upset her, but right now? Her neighbor's pounding music, the shrill, discordant singing, somehow both sharp and flat at once, the _“HAPPY 2020!”_ cheers, the roaring laughter, and those incessant shotgun-like booms and crackles, were making her ears ring and rattling her already shaking body like some sort of sick cosmic joke.

Was this it? Was this the part where she finally collapsed in on herself underneath the ever expanding weight of her past mistakes, the weight of falling _that_ hard for this man, of allowing herself to cut out her heart and put it in his hand with no guarantee that he would hold it tight and keep it safe? Yet another round of blasts shot high into the air, screeching across the sky. Knees buckling, her other hand shot up to grab the door along with the other one already there. God dammit, those fireworks were going to give her a heart attack and kill her. That was only if Loki didn't do the job for them.

New Years was the pistol. Texting him loaded the chamber. Begging him to come up turned off the safety. Telling him she'd worn this dress for him aimed the gun. That last bit of distance between them that he seemed hell bent on maintaining was the finger on the trigger. Standing here, waiting for him to please just _SAY SOMETHING_ was the slow, steady exhale before the pull. If he turned and walked away now-

_Don't leave me again._

She could smell the gunsmoke already.

_No hon, that's just the fireworks._

Taking a deep breath, Loki pulled a hand down his face. He knew she was interpreting what he’d just said (or not said) all kinds of wrong. No doubt she thought he’d just insulted the one day that was supposed to be theirs- the day that no one else _knew_ was theirs because none of them knew they’d met on New Years Day. Should he tell her right now, here in this open hall with all this vacuous _noise_ competing for her attention, that no amount of stabbing pain in his chest from not getting to call her _his_ anymore would change how grateful he was, even in his darkest hours, for those far too short years he _had_ called her his? Should he tell her that no matter where life ended up taking him, he would never get over the significance of January 1st? That he would never ever get over _her?_ That she would _always_ be his girl?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. No, those words were far too painfully honest, far too heartbreaking for him to say right now. But that didn’t mean there was _nothing_ he could say.

“But if I’d known _you_ would go to Strange tonight,” he started, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple making it glaringly obvious that he was getting a bit choked up- _bloody fantastic_ -when she lifted her head and locked eyes with him, “Sig, I swear…I would have been there in a heartbeat.”

The light on the third floor was dimmer than the others in the building for some reason, but it was just bright enough for him to see her mouth fall open as her chest stopped rising and falling for a good ten seconds. Was there no oxygen in this hallway?- because he couldn’t breathe either. She didn’t say anything. She just opened the door wider, took a step backward, and stretched her arm toward him, motioning for him to come to her. His eyes widened, and he let out a slight choking sound.

_Thank. God._

Jaw clenching, Loki lunged forward, almost as though he’d been pushed, closing the distance between them in two long strides. Kicking the door shut behind him, he caught her waist with one arm before she could take another step backward- another step _away_ from him. He threaded his fingers into the messy bun just above the nape of her neck, pulling her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

She gasped in shock, or maybe it was because of the instantaneous bloodrush straight to her core. Probably both. He had been so hesitant, so _distant,_ in the hall not two seconds ago, but now she could see the little flecks of indigo hiding in his emerald iries, and smell the spearmint gum that he must have discarded in the bin downstairs along with a hint of eucalyptus from his shaving cream. Combined with the feel of his long, lean arm around her waist, and his hand in her hair- _oh hell._

She hadn’t rolled in over ten years, but she remembered the feeling like it was yesterday, and this moment, finally having Loki wrapped around her after three months that felt like _years_ without him, was a thousand times better than that. Forget _legit_ X (not that shit with bath salt fillers) -if he could be bottled up, people would sell their left kidneys to get their hands on him. Her serotonin was sky-rocketing faster than the space shuttle itself.

_God help me-_

The crash back to the ground was going to be _brutal._

His grip on her hair was tightening, pulling on it harder, and it was maddening. She had _such_ a hair kink, and no one knew that better than him. Only _he_ knew every way to send her to cloud nine, and he was about to check all the boxes, guaranteed.

This was not smart. At all. She should _not_ be doing this with him. She might get stomped on all over again. He might very well leave when the sunlight started pouring into her bedroom, but right here, right now, the only thing she felt was just unbelievable _relief._ That, and mind-blowing, gut-twisting, _please-grow-old-with-me_ love. If someone took a picture of them right now, there would be hundreds of those stupid little pure _cringe_ hearts floating around her head, and she should not let him in again without knowing that they were circling around his head too. But her body was short-circuiting her brain, ignoring the warning sirens, shouting at her to keep chasing that high no matter the consequences, so she pushed up on her toes, and slid one arm up over his shoulder. Slipping her hand beneath the back of his collar, she tugged on his neck, and reached up to hold his face with her other hand. Her insides were going to explode in the next two seconds if she didn’t get her mouth on his.

A strained sound rumbled in the back of his throat as her nails dug into the tendons in his neck. Fine with him- it was a _good_ pain. He’d worn her scratch marks to meetings with his editors and publishers many times, and he would do it a thousand times more if he could. He absolutely could _not_ have asked for a better response from her. She was so damn _eager._ He pulled her tighter against him and leaned down, the tip of his nose running along her jaw. She whined his name then, and he grit his teeth, trying not to latch onto her neck like he wanted to. Hearing his name like that-

“Loki...oh my _god."_

Oh my god, was right. His head was spinning. There was probably no blood left in it now that every ounce was speeding instead to just south of his belt buckle. 

Nosing the pulse point in her neck, he groaned deep in his chest. She was wearing that perfume- DKNY Stories (poetic for a writer, no?) -that he had given to her on her birthday last year. He didn’t understand the chemistry of it, but that fragrance went from _“oh, that’s lovely”_ to _“take off your clothes NOW”_ when it made contact with her skin. He was absolutely _drowning._ How had he gotten through these last three months without her? Certainly not with flying colors.

Writing over a hundred pages, then deleting them because every last one was complete _garbage._ Testing the upper limits of his new motorcycle which earned him two speeding tickets that he didn’t give a damn about. Finishing off those fifteen leftover Vicodin from that sprain in February. Copious amounts of whiskey. Several packs of cigs.

He’d quit eight years ago.

_God. Dammit._

That utterly _atrocious_ attempted hook up with a pretty little young thing- a 22-year-old NYU undergrad (Emma...Emily...Em? who cared) -at a HarperCollins networking event halfway into November. That girl had been after him the whole night, and he’d hoped he could just close his eyes and blast that song about being sober (oh the irony) or whatever to cover up the sound of her voice and imagine she was the _actual_ woman he wanted.

Right.

She’d kissed wrong. Smelled wrong. She hadn’t fallen to pieces when he’d grabbed her hair. She’d called him _daddy_ and asked if he liked that.

No- he’d hated it. He’d always hated that shit.

_"Don’t call me that.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because I’m not your father, that’s why.”_

_“Neither is my ACTUAL father.”_

_“Sorry to hear that.”_

He’d pushed her off his lap the second she’d gone for his zipper. Apparently he couldn’t stand anyone touching him other than _his_ girl. Sig's kinks actively turned him _on-_ they didn’t give him temporary erectile dysfunction, for fuck’s sake. So he’d gone home alone, unzipped his trousers alone, and watched private videos he’d taken of Sig on his phone.

Alone.

But he wasn’t alone now. He was actually holding her, smelling her, feeling her, clinging to her. He must have accidentally sold his soul to some evil force, because she was clinging to him too, and she felt too perfect in his arms to be real. The writing had to be on the wall somewhere. Something wicked had to be coming this way. But _damn_ , he’d take it. Evil, wrong, sinful, damnable- any of it. All of it. He didn’t care. He just wanted her back. And he was going to keep her this time. If she let him.

Sigyn pulled on his neck with all the strength in her arm, trying _so hard_ to pull him closer, which wasn’t actually possible. Not with their clothes on at least. She couldn't believe this was happening. Loki was in her apartment. He was sliding his hand from her waist down over her hip and lower. His fingertips were grazing her skin just under the hemline of her dress. The only thing that could make this moment better would be having his lips on hers. No other man in the universe could kiss like him. She didn’t need to try it with anyone new to know that. He was practically squeezing the life out of her, but his face was _still_ buried in her neck, and it was the most maddening tease ever.

They hadn’t addressed anything about October, about what the hell had gone wrong, and kissing him again without talking first, without knowing that his heart was still in this- that he wanted to _stay_ this time -was probably so so so stupid, but screw it. She wouldn’t be able to form words beyond “oh god” or “yes” or random cursing at this point anyway. Just when she thought she would have to scream at him to kiss her already, he lifted his head away from her throat, and swooped down, pulling her bottom lip between his. A split second later, he sank his tongue into her open mouth.

_!!!!!!_

Eyes rolling back so far inside her skull, they might never right themselves, she kissed him back like she couldn’t breathe without the air from his lungs, her body giving those blasted fireworks outside a run for their money. Honestly, the timing of those explosions out there was absurdly spot on. What was this, a goddamn _movie?_ She would fall to the ground right here if he wasn’t holding her up.

Being with her again like this, licking into her mouth as far as he could without choking her (god that was quite the image), was making it hard for him to breathe, but he didn’t care. He’d been going out of his mind with this agonizing need to taste what he’d been missing for an unbearably hellish three months, and he absolutely could _not_ take another second with these god-awful clothes keeping her from him. He pulled her hair harder, and she stopped kissing him, breathing heavily against his mouth and letting out a moan that made his hips jerk forward of their own will. Bloody hell, his dick was about to tear apart the fly of these three hundred dollar jeans because she was pushing against him harder, resuming what felt like an all out assault on his mouth. Seriously, his trousers were not going to survive. He needed to calm down, or he wouldn’t last another five minutes. Could one die from embarrassment?- what an utterly _pathetic_ way to go. He could see the obituary now:

__

_Loki Odinson, 36. Found dead in ex-girlfriend’s apartment on 01/01/20 at 12:24am. Cause of death: Sudden cardiac arrest. Comments: His time came too soon._

__

Pulling away from her mouth, he blinked several times, breathing in and out slowly, then leaned his forehead down to hers and lowered his stance to be at her height. Once he’d had a few more seconds to collect himself, he slid his hand up from the back of her thigh to that fucking _gorgeous_ curve at the top of it.

Bless this short dress for moving aside so easily, and those heels for giving his girl the extra height, making it less awkward to hook his hand under her knee and bring her thigh up over his hip as he started kissing her again.

“Loki,” she struggled to say his name between the opening and closing of his mouth over hers, pushing up onto the toe of her heel that was still planted on firm ground, trying to get better leverage.

“You’re...too-” she stopped abruptly, gasping at the rough feel of his jeans against her. God damn, it was making the throbbing between her legs so much more _unbearable_.

“I’m too what?” he asked, voice straining.

She let out another little moan, her head falling back. “Tall...you’re too tall.”

He smirked a little. His ego never failed to appreciate being reminded of his height.

"I can fix that," he breathed, bending down to grab her ass with both hands, and hoisting her up. Her legs automatically wound around his waist as he walked the short distance to her bed.

_Please let me inside you._

He would get on his knees and beg if she wanted him to. Did she want him to write another book for her? He would do it. He would do _anything._

Clinging to his shoulders, Sigyn locked her ankles behind Loki, forcing him to stay attached to her as he bent over to drop her on her bed. Sliding one of his hands from her thigh up to the base of her spine, and pushing the other into the mattress for leverage, he lifted her a few inches off the duvet so he could easily pull her body away from the edge.

He was _not_ going to rush through this. Rapid, clothes flying, desperate sex with his girl would not be enough- not even _close_ -so he started a deliberate, slow grind between her legs. His mouth fell open, breathing hard as she arched up into him. Seeing her bite her lip and throw her head back like this was stroking his ego more than the _"you're so TALL, Loki"_ thing. They still had their clothes on, yet she was moaning and gasping like she was two seconds from an orgasm.

_Wait until I pull that gorgeous dress off, love._

He slid his hand under her neck, unhooking the top of her dress. Oh so carefully, he dragged the zipper down…

down…

down…

down…

Sigyn bit her lip, her breathing speeding up, chest rising and falling faster beneath him as the slow slide of his fingers exposed more and more of her skin.

_Oh dying stars above-_

With the way he’d lunged at her, she’d assumed he would tear this dress off, but he was being so _gentle._ She should have known that Loki, of all people, would recognize a four thousand dollar Saint Laurent mini and handle it like a rare work of art. He would probably even take it to the dry cleaners for her after this, ordering them to handle it with great care because- oh she could hear him now _-“these are microstuds and this is a silk lining and it was made in FRANCE, for pity’s sake.”_

At least he would have done that when they were a couple, but _now…?_

_Nope, don’t go there- Just focus on the incredible drag of his perfect hips between your legs._

Back and forth...

Up and down...

Over...

and over...

and over...

and over...

and over…

_God damn, I am REELING._

The underside of his adam’s apple, what little of it was visible beneath the somewhat high neck of his pullover hovered over her face, and she let go of the back of his head to tug the fabric lower, giving her mouth access to the dip in his collar bones. His responding sharp inhale- a suffocating, nearly pained sound -made her scared for a second that she’d accidentally choked him with his shirt collar.

“Sweetheart...Sig...god…” he exhaled, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Eyes widening, she blinked. Had he just-

_Sweetheart?_

He’d only used that term of endearment after he told her he loved her the first time, so...calling her that was either just a hard habit to break, or he _still meant it._ Or maybe both…? Good lord, she needed to stop overthinking this and just be present with him. This moment deserved her full attention. _He_ deserved her full attention, so she was going to give it to him.

She closed her eyes and leaned in, the tip of her tongue darting out before closing her lips over his smooth, freshly shaved, sensitive skin. He made that same toe-curling sound again, pressing her further into the mattress with each roll of those divine narrow hips between her now shaking legs. Son of a _bitch-_ she was about to beg him to take his trousers off.

Hissing as her mouth and teeth gently skimmed over his throat, Loki slid one hand underneath the front of her dress. Oh god, yes- she wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d assumed as much because the neckline plunged all the way to her waist, but it was thrilling to know for sure that she’d forgone the extra layer of fabric. One less hurdle to jump over to get to two _stunning_ parts of his girl’s body. She moaned loudly, arching up into his hand. Then he replaced his hand with his mouth, and she whined his name. He looked up from under his brow to watch her as she writhed underneath him. 

_Dammit, she IS trying to kill me-_ her head pressed into the pillow, neck pulled taut, panting through her open mouth as she pulled on his neck, tugging him closer. He would have kept his eyes on her, but it was impossible to not suddenly be aware of something else from the corner of his eye.

She felt him laugh quietly, a deep, gravelly rumble against her skin, and her head popped right up to look down at him. Eyebrows knitting together, she blew out a heavy breath. Why the hell was he _laughing?_ What could possibly be _amusing_ about this? When she was half naked and vulnerable, giving him every little broken piece of her?

“Something funny?” she asked, her voice shaking.

_Calm down. Your fingers probably tickled his neck or something. Nothing more._

He lifted his head, letting his chin rest on her chest, and arched one dark eyebrow. His eyes moved from her face toward the window to her right, where bursts of light continued to flash every ten or so seconds. She followed his line of sight, wondering if a gigantic pigeon had landed on the fire escape, staring at him with a ridiculously cocked head or something.

_OH._

Nope, not a pigeon. Something far more sinister had distracted him. Her mouth fell into an open smile then, and she let out a bark of a laugh, then covered her face with her hands.

“Hello, Sketch,” Loki said, smirking at her cat, curled up on the green chair _right next to them._

Still smirking, he slid his gaze to hers again, and she shook her head, pressing her lips together.

“His presence might have slipped my mind,” she snorted, covering her mouth to hide the embarrassing sound.

Loki hummed quietly, sliding back up her body, and pulled her hand away from her mouth. He dropped his lips to hers in his version of a chaste kiss, which was still _not safe for work,_ then pushed up to his knees and carefully disentangled himself from her legs. She closed her thighs instinctively as he stepped sideways off of her bed, and watched him bend down in front of Sketch.

“If it wouldn’t be too imposing,” he kept his voice low, reaching up and gently laying his hand on her cat’s back, his thumb running in soothing circles over his soft, black furry head, “may we have the room please?”

He smiled when Sketch leaned into his thumb, purring heavily, then he looked back up at Sigyn. Giving her a little heart-stopping wink, he gently picked Sketch up, holding him against his shoulder and rose to his feet. She chewed her lip, her stomach doing giddy flips at the sight of Loki handling her cat just like he had when they’d been together- like nothing had changed, like he was back and wasn’t going anywhere, like he was committed to her no matter what. Like he would never get enough- _“Hello, my name is Loki, and I am an addict.”_

She watched him walk out of her room, presumably to set her cat on her couch. The insecure voice in her head started talking again, telling her that he was just here to get his New Years fix. He was three months sober, and he would leave in a few hours to try to get clean again. Maybe he could hold off for six months next time.

_Face it, you’re just a helluva drug, hon._

Suddenly feeling too vulnerable, both emotionally and physically, she readjusted the top of her dress, covering herself again. She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, her arms wrapping around them. Sketch mewed several times on the other side of the wall, and she nervously reached for her phone, which had somehow ended up on her bed. How she managed to not drop it when Loki first grabbed her or, more shocking, when he picked her up and brought her to her bed, she would never know. Pulling up her music app, she found her favorite playlist and held it over the HomePod bluetooth speaker on her bedside table. Maybe the sound would be loud enough to shut up the voice in her head. She looked up when Loki came back into her bedroom, a frown on his _stupidly_ handsome face as he skirted the edge of her bed.

“What are you-”

“Taking this chair into your living room for him so he’ll stop bloody meowing,” he cut her off, squatting down to grab the underside of the chair and lifting it, keeping it close to his stomach as he stood upright.

Her eyes went a bit wide as she watched him take it out of the room, effortlessly avoiding knocking it into her dresser or scraping it against the wall. Wow, those incessant gym sessions really paid off, didn’t they. The thing weighed a hundred pounds, which was _definitely_ less than her weight, but still, it was an awkward, wide piece of furniture that wouldn’t exactly wrap itself around him and make the task of carrying it easy for him. It was highly disappointing that he hadn’t taken his shirt off first, especially since he’d apparently removed his boots and socks while he was in there trying to calm Sketch down. If he was going to take those off, why not remove the shirt as well? Her eyes glazed over, getting lost in a little fantasy about him lifting heavy items of all kinds while half naked, wearing nothing but his jeans. Maybe she could convince him to move her fridge or something. Those broad shoulders, those lean arms, those back muscles that tapered _just right_ to his narrow waist-

“There we go,” his sudden voice made her jump, and she let out a shriek that made _him_ jump as he walked in once again.

Closing her doors behind him, his eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“You alright?”

Why was she sitting like that? With her dress back in place? Curled up with her legs tucked in front of her, shielding her from his sight?

_Oh shit._

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. He could handle slowing down on the heavy petting if that’s what she needed, but if she told him to leave, he would...what the hell would he even do? Was he just supposed to go back home? Back to feeling like he was suffocating every second of his miserable existence?

_I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s too small and cramped, but I’ll do it. Just don’t tell me to go._

Anxiety clawed at his chest, and he scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s okay...obviously...if you’re not alright with...this,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “I won’t be angry with you."

_Just myself._

Even in the dim light, he could see her trembling. Heaven help him, he ached to wrap his arms around her, to protect her from whatever it was that had her shaking like a leaf. He took a small, hesitant step toward her, hoping _he_ wasn’t the reason she looked so goddamn scared.

“No, I’m not alright, Loki,” she admitted quietly, wiping away a tear sliding down her cheek with the back of her hand.

Oh for god's sake- Would she ever _not_ cry around him?! It made her feel like the most _pathetic waste of space_. Loki comes back to her after three months, and rather than get hot and heavy, she was just...heavy. She dragged everything around her to the ground, didn't she. She was in agony without him, but she wouldn't be able to fault him for leaving now.

_So much for convincing him you're worth staying for, hon._

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling his hands down his face, then dropping them heavily and shaking his head, “because I can’t stand this anymore.”

“Stand what?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.

He looked so _nervous,_ and he’d called her sweetheart again. Her heart was pounding, and if it had a voice, it would be swearing that it couldn’t keep beating without him.

“I can’t stand living without you…” Loki answered, his voice fading out like the end of a song despite wanting to say _so much_ _more_.

She blinked at him, her pounding heart stuttering to a halt as he took another small step toward her.

"I...I think...I think I heard you wrong," she barely managed to speak.

Tilting his head, looking her up and down, he moved closer still.

"I'll rephrase," he said, coming to the edge of the bed and leaning down to her eye level, "I do not want to keep living if I have to do so without you."

Her heart was working again- too hard. It was overdrive now. She might have said _"oh fuck me"_ or maybe it was _"Lo-ki"_ or possibly _"LO, fuck me"_ but whatever it was spilled out of her mouth in a rush of air that pushed the loose strands of hair out of his face. His hands were on her knees, and she looked down at them momentarily, watching his thumbs make circles on her skin. Then she lifted her eyes to his again, and she released her nervous hold on her legs, letting him push her knees apart and move between them again. Reaching for his face, she dragged him to her mouth. He pressed into her, kissing her carefully, as though he was afraid she didn't really want him to. _So_ wrong- she wanted him to kiss her even harder than he had in front of her door. His lips were moving so lightly over hers. It was so unlike him to not use his tongue at _all_. She must have really freaked him out.

_Kind of like you did most of 2019, hon..._

To be continued...

_* Chapter song "Talk Fast" by 5 Seconds of Summer *_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Featured songs in order of appearance: Loki was listening to "Teeth" by 5 Seconds of Summer on his way to Sigyn's apartment (NYE 2020 post-breakup). Sigyn's neighbors are playing "It Won't Kill Ya" by The Chainsmokers ft. Louane when Loki is talking to her in the hall (NYE 2020). When Loki remembered back to the time he attempted to hook up with a random woman after the breakup (Fall 2019), the song that had been playing in the background during that unsuccessful hook-up was "Sober" by Niykee Heaton. Sigyn plays "Take It Back" by Darci&Ozzie on her bluetooth speaker when Loki takes Sketch to her living room(NYE 2020). *side note:"Take it Back" is my curl-up-in-a-ball-and-cry favorite.
> 
> No actual "commentary" from me this time around. I'll leave it up to everyone who stumbles upon New Year to feel/respond to this without my input. My "notes" would NEVER END, so I will keep my mouth shut. I just want to hear your "notes", person-generous-enough-to-read-my-words. Readers comments are so important to me. Assuming said comments aren't something like "this is trash" (yikes), nothing means more to me than seeing someone was moved enough to let me know how this story affected them. Kudos are awesome too of course. I know a lot of people don't give them until they've finished a story though, and I understand. Just know that it DOES help with motivation to keep going when I know that someone likes what I'm doing in the process rather waiting until it's over. Pretty big deal. Thank you so much for reading and please subscribe/bookmark! See you in chapter 4! <3 -Jen


	4. Written in the Dying Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * NEW NOTE OCTOBER 2020 *  
> Once again, if you are re-reading New Year and think that I discarded a ton of content in this "revised edition", please know that all that content has just been pushed forward into the next chapter (chapter 4, obviously). No worries. It's all still there. I'm just making these chapter lengths more manageable than they had been.

_**~8:13am, April 3, 2019…..Eight months prior~** _

Waiting in line at Ground Support to grab a black coffee to bring to his meeting down at HarperCollins, Loki stared down at the Google docs app on his phone, scrolling through the fourth chapter of his third novel, which he’d started working on last month once the Sunlight madness died down a bit. He was on page fifty-two when Sigyn’s name and picture lit up the screen, and he tapped the AirPod in his right ear twice to take the call and turn off his music.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, looking down to slide his phone into the front zipper of the leather laptop bag slung across his torso, “you want me to swing by your office and bring you a latte on my way to HC? I mean, I might as well since I’m already at-” he stopped, his eyebrows pulling together when he realized she was crying.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, head still down and keeping his voice low since the cafe was crowded with the typical busy morning rush before work.

_"It’s T-tony…he’s...oh...my...g-god...”_

He blinked mutely as she continued stuttering into her phone. Turning around, he sidestepped a woman with a baby strapped to her chest and a toddler in a stroller standing in line behind him, and went back outside. He made a left, walking to the edge of the building and stepping just inside the small alley to get out of the unseasonably chilly, blustery wind that had no business showing up in spring.

“Sig?” he spoke louder, adjusting his AirPods a bit, “Sweetheart, I can’t understand y-”

“ _He’s not…”_ _she croaked, coughing into the phone on her end, then wheezed a little, sounding like she couldn’t breathe, “h-he… I… didn’t… know… he… didn’t… t-tell… m-”_

“Take some deep breaths, love,” he exhaled, not saying it only for her sake.

He had enough anxiety on his own without hearing her voice sound like _this._ Something was horribly wrong.

_"Lo-ki… Tony… is… dying… I... I can’t… what t- do...”_

Eyes blowing wide, his mouth fell open. Had she… had she just said that Tony was… dying?

_DYING?_

_No no no no no no no._

Bile crept up into his throat, and he put the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Wha…” he exhaled, unable to get the full word out.

He eyed the small tree planted in a tiny square of dirt on the pavement, wishing it was possible to discreetly vomit into the mulch. He wasn’t going to risk running back into the cafe lest the restroom be occupied and locked. The closest trash bin was up the block a bit on the other side of West Broadway, and he doubted he could make it that far. Getting hit by a car while throwing up in the middle of the street wasn’t a good look. He glanced around behind him, spotting the alley dumpster that the businesses in this group of buildings shared. No, he wasn’t about to touch one of those things, and he sure as hell wouldn't put his _face_ anywhere near them. Maybe he should just go ahead and throw up on the concrete. Who would even know? No one would _see._

“ _Loki,”_ _she sniffled, “are you… are you there? Please tell me you’re still there.”_

God, his girl’s voice sounded so _small,_ and it woke him from his _‘I’m going to be sick’_ stupor.

“Tell me where you are,” he said, walking back out of the empty alley and instinctively turning south.

He yanked his Ray Bans- the mirrored, silver aviators he’d bought on a whim last weekend when spring fever had caught him by the throat -up off the top of his head and set them properly over his eyes. It wasn’t sunny at _all._ It was cloudy and grey and cold, the most it had been in over a month, but he needed these peacocky, envy-inducing, fucking _hollow_ accessories to hide his now watery red eyes.

“Sig,” he spoke more forcefully because she hadn’t answered him, “tell me where you are.”

_"Oh, sorry...sorry…” she stammered, “I’m… distracted...I’m so-“_

“Sig, _STOP,”_ he cut her off, uninterested in useless apologies when all he cared about was getting his arms around her, yet still didn’t know where the hell to go to make that happen.

“Tell me where you are _right now,”_ he barked, though his tone lacked bite.

He wasn’t angry at her. He was just desperate, and it made him want to put his fist through one of these store windows just to hear the crash of glass shattering.

Their close friend was dying, and he was only fifty.

_FIFTY._

He hadn’t felt this helpless in over two years. How was he supposed to watch Sig live through something like this? Something as devastating as the sudden permanent loss of a man who had been like a second father to her for a decade now? Chewing his trembling lower lip, he lifted his sunglasses for a second to rub his burning eyes.

_I'm not strong enough for her. I'm going to lose her._

He sucked in a shuddering breath, and grit his teeth, putting one foot after the other.

_You need to move faster, LO._

Picking up his pace as he neared Broome Street, deftly dodging what felt like hundreds of people _purposefully_ blocking him from his girl, he checked his left and right before hurrying through the crosswalk. He pulled his phone out of his bag and looked down at it, pretending he didn’t see or hear the group of a dozen university-aged students on the other side of Grande Street who were discreetly waving to him. He’d noticed them ten seconds ago, and they were probably lovely people, but if he acknowledged them at all, even with a quick wave or nod, he would have to act like he was just fine. Like this was just another day of strolling through his neighborhood and writing and grabbing coffee or lunch with a friend. He would have to pretend that he wasn’t on the verge of saying _“fuck it”_ and legit _running_ like a madman down West Broadway with his bag in the crook of his elbow.

Because he had a brand to maintain now, didn’t he. He couldn’t just be Loki. No, he had to be effortlessly yet perfectly coiffed with casual yet tailored GQ style, dark but not broody, deep but still accessible, privileged but not elitist, wealthy but charitable, masculine but not toxic, charming but genuine. He had to be Loki _Starboy_ Odinson, but not _too_ much.

_This, not that. Yes, but not like that. No, now you’re not doing it enough. Woah, too much, back off, don’t over correct. No no no NO, you’re doing it WRONG._

Most days he could do it. Most days it was effortless, because that part of him wasn’t an act. But that was just it- it was only a _part_ of him. And apparently it was the only part any of them wanted to see. So most days he would pause to take a few selfies, exchange a few jokes, maybe even sign a few books. Then he would say he was running late for his meeting and leave with a smirk and wink that would break a few hearts just like his publicist wanted him to do. Seven minutes ago, this could have been one of those days.

Sigyn still wasn’t answering, just coughing and gasping.

“I’m crossing Canal Street now,” he couldn’t contain the growling, impatient edge to his voice, “so tell me _where the hell_ you are.”

He looked up when a flash of lightning crackled across the clouds above him. He hadn’t even noticed those clouds. Maybe he had, but had mentally waved them off because surely the universe wasn’t this sickeningly _maudlin._ God, the critics would rip him to shreds if he wrote a death scene in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Teeth gritting, he ripped his sunglasses off his face since it was too dark to use them now and slid them into his bag, unconcerned with scratching the lenses or bending them, because only one thing in his entire world mattered right now, and she couldn’t be replaced like some trendy piece of metal and plastic.

_“I’m at Tony’s penthouse.”_

He barely heard her soft voice over the deafening crack of thunder. Squinting into the wind, he pulled up his collar.

_Don’t rain yet, Don’t rain yet, Don’t rain yet._

“His building is 56 Leonard, yes?”

His eyes landed on the skinny, mirrored, skyscraper up ahead. If he just focused on that sixty story, glass covered lighthouse in this suddenly claustrophobic sea of brick and concrete and too many people, he wouldn’t drown.

_“56 Leonard,” she confirmed, sniffling quietly._

She sounded so far away.

“ _Loki, I need you,” she croaked._

With his hands in his jacket pockets and his heart in his throat, he crossed onto 6th ave.

_Four blocks to go._

“Give me 5, sweetheart.”

Five minutes. That’s all he needed. And he nailed it. Right on the dot.

Sigyn stood on the other side of the elevator when it opened in front of him on the top floor, a look of disbelief and devastation written all over her face.

“He saw an oncologist in December,” she said quietly, looking at the floor as he stepped off the lift before the doors closed on him.

Coming up to her, he slid one arm around her ribs and cupped the back of her head with his other hand. She lifted her tired eyes to his.

“The guy said he had six months at most.”

His mouth fell open, speechless.

“Oh…” was all he managed.

_What am I... what am I supposed to say?_

“He only told his wife,” she whispered, shaking in his hold.

He studied her face silently for a moment, running his thumb under her eyes, unintentionally smudging streaks of dark eyeliner and mascara across her wet cheeks. She looked like a wreck, and much like a car wreck, he couldn’t look away.

“Tell me this is just a nightmare, Loki.”

Her eyes roved over his face, searching for an answer that wasn’t there.

“Tell me I’m going to wake up from it, and he’ll be _fine.”_

Staring back at her, he pressed his lips together. He was a damn good liar, but he wouldn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t say the words she wanted to hear because they wouldn’t change a thing. Pretty lies wouldn’t turn back the clock. They would only prolong denial and delusion. He let out a heavy sigh, hating that he was only human- that he was powerless to remove the cancer that was killing their friend.

_Please don’t kill my girl too._

She leaned her cheek against his chest and clung to him.

“I’ve got you, love,” he whispered, pulling her closer as she mumbled _“please wake up”_ on repeat.

He looked out the floor to ceiling windows when the first heavy raindrops pattered against the glass, sounding eerily similar to the clinking of crystal champagne flutes at midnight.

_All my New Years are yours._

Seconds later, hard wind-driven rain began pelting the windows like the clouds had a personal vendetta against them.

* * *

  
  


_**~Four Days Later, 7:20pm, April 7, 2019~** _

  
  


Standing amidst the closest friends and family of Tony Stark on a Battery Park City rooftop terrace terrace owned by the elderly father that Tony had left behind, Loki squinted up at the threatening sky over his head, a shiver shooting down his spine as the wind whipped around them. He wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf if Sig would have just done what he’d suggested and brought her own damn jacket, but of course she hadn’t, and she was now wearing _his_ raincoat over her short-sleeved, knee-length black dress. He still had his suit jacket, but _still._

He hadn’t worn a tie with this charcoal slim cut suit, opting instead to leave the top two buttons of his black dress shirt open, which had been perfectly acceptable before he’d so _generously_ given away his outerwear. Now his neck was entirely exposed to the elements while standing on top of a 25-story skyscraper overlooking the Hudson. He should have known that he would end up giving his coat to her the second she got into his car and said _“the best thing about your car is the heated seats.”_ He should have pulled up the electric parking brake that second and gone back upstairs to grab her coat. Ah, hindsight.

Everyone had gathered up here for what was supposed to be a private, outdoor _sunset_ memorial service, but low-lying clouds had been hovering and merging together over Manhattan all afternoon, and their tops were now high in the stratosphere, dark and ominous and ready to drop yet _another_ severe thunderstorm over their heads at any second. The peace lilies standing proudly in strategically placed planters around the terrace didn’t stand a chance against the absurdly strong wind. Their lovely white petals were torn from their stems with all the care and compassion that an insidious child would show to a cicada while ripping its legs off just for the hell of it during summer break. If he wouldn’t look completely off his rocker for doing so, he would scream _“enough with the theatrics!-we get it!-end scene!!”_ at those absurd clouds.

With his arm around Sigyn’s shoulders, and hers around his waist, they followed everyone back inside Howard Stark’s home halfway through the ceremony just in time to avoid the downpour. To think, the old man was pushing 90, yet here he was, standing upright on his own, while his 50-year old son’s body was reduced to nothing but finely ground bones inside an urn sitting on his coffee table. Why did kismet have to be so goddamn ruthless?

Loki stared blankly out the western windows, deja vu hitting him like a ton of bricks as he watched Lady Liberty all but disappear behind nearly opaque sheets of rain. Hadn’t he done this four days ago? Hadn’t he said goodbye to someone on the top floor of a highrise that was shaking from the thunder crashing all around it? Yes, he had.

_Are we done now?_

Somewhere in the distance, or maybe it was only a few feet away, he heard Howard’s priest reading scripture that sounded emptier than the four leftover tumblers of scotch on the rocks that he’d seen Tony’s widow go through over the past hour. Loki glanced at the stoic clergyman for a second then returned his eyes to the storm outside. Why in god's name- pun intended -was a religious leader speaking at this gathering? Tony hadn’t set foot inside a church since the Berlin Wall came down in ‘89. Speaking of walls…the handwriting was all over the one currently standing next to him- the one Sig was putting up around her. Glaring, neon flashes of lightning spray-painted the words across the shadows in her face:

_Better get used to the dark, Starboy- that sunlight is fading fast._

Neither of them wanted to stick around to mingle after the service ended fifteen minutes later, so now they stood behind the glass entrance doors to the building, waiting for the valet to bring his car around from the garage down the block. Admittedly it was a bit insensitive to show up to a somber event in a _slightly_ attention-grabbing vehicle, but he wanted to drive his car today. He just wanted to get inside this gorgeous creature with all the chaotic potential in the universe, and control the hell out of it because it was the only living thing amidst all this death.

Oh, he needed to write that one down: _Get Inside a Gorgeous Creature and Control the Hell Out of It._

Definitely in the running for the title of his third book. Rated E for explicit extended sexual metaphors. His parents would be so proud.

He heard the rumble of said gorgeous creature long before he saw it coming around the corner of the building. They made a dash for it before the valet managed to open an umbrella for them. After opening her door and helping her inside, he handed the man an especially generous tip, and ducked into the driver’s seat. Running a hand through his hair to push the damp strands off his face, he watched her dig out a hair tie from her mini bag, then twist it around her previously straightened hair. As she pushed the curling flyaways behind her ears, he stared at the water droplets sliding down her neck.

_Lucky raindrops._

Tearing his eyes away to check his left mirror, he shifted gears and pulled away from the curb and into the street. Before he reached the first stop sign, he glanced both ways. A steady line of cars were coming up fast from both directions. If he stopped, he would be stuck at this insipid intersection for five minutes. He _should_ stop. These wet streets might make him spin out, and his girl was in here, but he floored it instead, the powerful engine revving, taking the hard left turn like it was made for it.

_Bloody hell, the handling in this thing..._

In his periphery he saw Sigyn push back into her seat and roll her head to the side to look at him.

“I had plenty of room,” he explained before she could say anything. He was in no mood to be scolded for driving aggressively.

She continued quietly gazing at him, and as he pulled to a stop at the red light at Albany Street, he switched on his right turn signal, watching the cars coming from his left. The cross traffic here was far too heavy to turn on red, so he took the opportunity to skip through the songs on his phone that had automatically connected to the car’s Bluetooth until he landed on a track moody enough for his liking.

“Loki, you are driving a little too-” she stopped mid-sentence when he eyed her sideways.

_I swear, if you tell me to be more careful, I’ll make you walk home._

She blinked slowly, looking as though she’d just finished off four vodka tonics.

“-honestly...it’s just too…”

_Woman. I swear._

“-sexy.”

_Thank you._

_Wait...what?_

His lips parted, breathing faster when she set her hand on his knee, then achingly slowly, inch by inch, dragged her palm up his inner thigh.

_Oh fuck-_

The light changed, and she stilled her hand. Foot on the gas, he instinctively pushed his hips forward, forcing his eyes to stay on the road even though he wanted to close them and let his head fall back as her fingers grazed him through his trousers. His quiet groan was overpowered by the exhaust pipes making that obnoxiously loud _"pop pop pop”_ sound that he loved as he turned the wheel. By hell, she was barely touching him, but he was responding as though she’d unzipped his fly and shoved her face in his lap.

How much longer was it to her place? Fifteen minutes? Might as well be a century with her looking at him like that, all dark eyes and flushed cheeks. He saw her lick her lips out the corner of his eye.

_God DAMN, sweetheart, put those to better use and wrap them around me._

"I would do what you’re thinking about if that cop wasn’t right next to us,” she spoke low, her voice as smoky as her eyeliner and that half-full pack of American Spirits in the glove box that he was sure he would need after he was done taking her to cloud nine somewhere around midnight.

A lifetime of climbing heart rates and counting heavy breaths later, he pulled up to her building. Reaching for the door handle, she paused before opening the door, and turned back toward him.

“I know I always have a hard time remembering, but you own a parking spot in the garage a block from your place, right?”

“It’s a monthly lease, but same difference. I sent a message on their app to pick up my car from your address, and they should be here in-” he looked at his watch “-three minutes.”

Eyeing his mouth, she placed her hand flat on his chest where it was exposed by his open shirt buttons, then she leaned across the middle console and kissed him. He made a sound in the back of his throat- not a growl _exactly,_ but close -and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her hair hard enough to elicit a muffled yelp from her.

“Sorry,” he said, instinctively loosening his grip for a second before forgetting entirely and pulling it again as he resumed kissing her.

Even though it had clearly stung her for a second, she gasped and moaned and pressed further into him with each tug. Good thing too, since he was going to pull on those long, waving, fucking _gorgeous_ locks even harder for several hours. They hadn’t done this since before Tony died. For some reason, it had seemed inappropriate. Now it seemed ridiculous. Eight days without jumping into bed with her was the sexual equivalent to getting excessively _hangry_ for him. She whined his name against his mouth, drawing out the second syllable like she was about to beg him for something, and _oh god_ whatever it was, he would give it to her.

“Lo…god!” she shrieked, pulling away abruptly when someone knocked on his window.

She grabbed her bag and dashed out the door. It slammed behind her as she ran into her building with the tiny bag over her head. Quite a useless umbrella. As soon as the garage’s private parking attendant scanned the monthly pass on his windshield and checked his ID, Loki ran after her, splashing through puddles while shouting _“not a scratch!”_ behind his shoulder. The moment he set foot in her apartment, she grabbed his open collar, pulling his face down to hers for another intense kiss that stole all the oxygen from his lungs.

_Can’t breathe, sweetheart._

Well who needs air anyway? He reached behind his back, blindly twisting the deadbolt on the door as she unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers. Refusing to pull away from her lips, he yanked off his rain soaked suit jacket and tossed it in the general direction of the arm of the couch. He bent down to grab the hem of her dress, and dragged it up over her hips and waist. He leaned away from her just long enough to pull it over her head before finding her mouth again, then shrugged out of his shirt as she fumbled with his belt buckle. The second it clinked open, her hands froze in place. Fingers clutching his belt, her mouth went still against his. She stopped breathing altogether, as did he. Two years ago he would’ve asked what was wrong- “ _Did I hurt you? Did you hear something? Did someone knock or something? Don’t tell me you actually JUST got your period.”_

But it wasn’t two years ago, and he didn’t need to ask. He lifted his eyes to hers, not surprised to see tears in them. Lips trembling, she let go of his belt and put a hand over her eyes.

“I know I started this, but...I can’t,” her voice had never sounded so _weak,_ “something is wrong, and and and...I don’t know what exactly...or how to explain-”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said, forcing a gentle tone despite wanting to throw something. Certainly not at _her._ Just, maybe, at the wall or through the window. He was not in any way upset with her. Not at all. After this wretched week, she just wanted to feel good- incredible, actually -and he was right there with her.

_“Please_ don’t leave me,” she whispered, reaching up to hold his neck, her fingers threading through his hair and clamping onto the strands, almost painfully, “please stay with me.”

His jaw dropped, a deep frown creasing his rain damp forehead. Did she really think she needed to _beg_ him to stay? God, even if she wasn’t shaking like a vulnerable and gorgeous October leaf on the verge of losing its hold on a branch, even if her eyes weren’t wet and rounded with fear of the hellish fall to the ground, he would never be able to walk away from her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice cracking as he slid his arms around her, ignoring the sting of her nails on the back of his neck.

_Unless it’s with you._

She tightened her hold on his neck, pulling her body somehow closer to him. Even if he _wanted_ to go, she wouldn’t let him, would she.

_LO’s Forever Dream Girl- Careful, she’s a helluva drug._

* * *

_**~One Month Later, 9:39am, May 9, 2019~** _

  
  


Yanking his towel off the rack next to the foggy glass shower door, Loki wrapped it around his waist and grabbed his knife from the window ledge before stepping onto the heated bathroom tiles. He leaned back against the edge of the slab granite vanity, wringing out his dripping wet hair with a smaller hand towel.

“Ah... _fuck,”_ he hissed, wincing when it snagged on a clump of knotted tangles.

Gritting his teeth, he threw the thing harder than necessary at the laundry basket next to the sink, then he picked up his knife again, opening and closing it over and over.

Swing open.

_Click._

Pull closed.

_Click._

Swing open.

_Click._

Pull closed.

_Click._

He stared down at the jagged, curved edge, and touched it with his thumb, testing the sharpness. Careful not to nick himself because, yes, it was still _razor_ sharp, he resumed opening and closing it with a heavy sigh. What day was it? Monday? Wait...no, it had to be Saturday since Sig was here at his place in the middle of the day. Lips pursing, he squinted at the opposite wall.

_Thursday. It’s Thursday. You’re having lunch with Val._

Staring blankly ahead, he shook his head. Sig must have taken a personal day or something. Maybe. He hadn’t asked. The past month was one monstrous jumble of frayed, bizarre wires turning his head into mush that rendered it impossible to write anything _remotely_ comprehensible. Virginia Woolf herself wouldn’t follow that stream of consciousness disaster (current working title: FML) on his laptop. Just stare at the screen with glazed, unseeing eyes and tap, tap, tap, tap. He was one day away from writing _“all work and no play makes Loki a dull boy”_ until he was blue in the face.

_I swear, if I start seeing creepy little girls at the end of my hallway..._

Tony’s death had hit Sig even harder than he'd imagined it would, and as though the universe had permanently taped his eyes open, everyday he was forced to watch her disappear behind the clouds. She didn’t leave her apartment (or his, if she slept here), except to go to work. She slept no more than two hours every night. She barely ate, and it showed in the more pronounced hollows of her cheeks and in the lost muscle tone in her arms and shoulders and thighs.

That whole _“100% pure dream girl- careful, she’s a helluva drug”_ reference took on an entirely new meaning now that his girl was sporting that bone thin _“all my calories come from smokes and nose candy”_ look, which had no business being anywhere other than in a mid-90s Calvin Klein ad. Of course he was still attracted to her, but one can’t just, you know, _not eat._ He knew _this_ version of her wasn’t healthy for _her._ He wanted her to put some meat back on her ribs, but he didn’t want to say it. The last thing she needed was to think even _less_ of herself, and he doubted she would interpret his concern as anything other than _“Loki thinks I’m ugly now.”_

_Absolutely untrue, gorgeous girl, but you won’t believe me, will you._

Speaking of not eating, he had to remind her to feed Sketch _every day._ How exactly does one not notice their cat meowing incessantly at them? Obvious answer was critical cognitive dysfunction due to a lack of food and sleep. He needn’t have a medical degree to figure that one out. Oh, and another highly disruptive problem- They hadn’t had sex in a month. She wouldn’t even kiss him. That said, she most certainly was _not_ avoiding all physical contact. No, when she laid next to him in bed or on the couch, she held onto him like he was her lifeboat in open water. He loved the closeness, the way she clung to him, but the selfish part of him was so far beyond frustrated that he couldn’t see straight. He wanted more, but more importantly, he wanted _her_ to want more.

His knife glinted in the dusty sunbeams coming through his window, reflecting the light onto the wall. Eyes following the little circle of light moving back and forth, up and down, he continued mindlessly opening and closing the blade. There it was. Sunlight. It was only a hint of its continued existence, but it was still there. Right? It _had_ to be. He _needed_ it to be.

Up until now, the less evolved part of his brain had concocted an all too real fantasy wherein the persistent lifelong whiplash between the high-as-the-stars-ups and seventh-circle-of-hell-lows was over because when Sig burst into his life two years ago, his screwed up head seemed to finally get its shit together. Certainly she was human, and therefore a flawed creature who was fully capable of falling apart, of being pushed to her limits, of getting down on herself, of crying herself to sleep _just because,_ but nine thousand nine hundred ninety-ninety times out of ten thousand, she did so in his arms, and in doing so, she had remained that ever fixed bright globe of fire that his entire world desperately needed to orbit around. Now it seemed even the sun herself was no match for whatever fault was embedded in his code. 

_Ugh-_ his incessantly positive mother (who he loved to death) had always said that he wouldn’t be a successful writer if his mind wasn’t so tricky. He rolled his eyes at the thought. He must have said _"Mum, it isn’t worth it...it's NEVER been worth it"_ a thousand times. Perhaps one of the least “worth it” parts of it was all the _well-intentioned_ advice (see: rubbish) from ignorant know-it-alls to last a lifetime:

_“Kicking the soda habit will ease anxiety. Trust me.”_

_“Oh Loki, you just need more vitamin D.”_

_“Aren’t you manic depressive, Loki? You might wanna rethink that drink. Alcohol is a DEPRESSANT.”_

Their unsolicited advice was _infuriating,_ and he responded to it only _slightly_ better than he would to seeing someone key his car- ie: restraining murderous violence with vindictive, bitchy words:

_“Uh, I don’t have a soda habit, but for certain, if YOU kicked your popped-collar-khaki-cargo-shorts-boat-shoe habit, THAT would ease my anxiety. Trust me.”_

Seriously. Certain fashion choices made his eyes bleed.

_"No, darling, YOU need more vitamin D- wait...oh you meant I need more sun? Ah, I thought you were using slang for dick.”_

Please. As though he actually gave a damn about their sex lives, or lack there of. One had to be in a highly exclusive circle of people in his life to receive the privilege of his commentary concerning such things. Namely: Val, Thor, JB, Sam and Darcy. His sister Hela had once been in said circle, but the _one_ time he _jokingly_ shared his thoughts, she clocked him on the jaw, so...

_God, never again._

She’d called it a _love pat._ Right...a love pat that knocked him unconscious. To think, she was his _favorite_ in the family. Oh, and unless one had a death wish, they would do well to avoid calling him _manic depressive._

_“Fear not, if this one measly glass of bubbly, which we all know is unheard of on December 31st, knocks me off of my ever so manic depressive feet, I’ll inhale a bit of stardust to put the pep back in my step, mmm-kay? Now how’s about you catch up to the 1980s, and use the term Bipolar, you fucking FOSSIL.”_

Yes, he had said those exact words to a HarperCollins exec at a New Years Eve 2016 party, and he had zero regrets. It wasn’t as though he was scared of being fired for getting snarky. That, and the _help-I've-fallen-and-can’t-get-up_ dinosaur had been blind drunk, and forgot he’d been told off by that “good-looking Starboy author” who “looked like a younger version of himself” _(HAHAHA… DYING)_ within ten minutes.

Whatever. If these nanny-type hall monitors only showed up once in a blue moon, he could shrug it off, but this shit happened far too often for him to say “duly noted” and walk away. So yes, he got a bit mean- who cared? It was better than punching their lights out, yes? They were lucky he had physical self-control coming out of his ears at this point (thank you proper pharmaceuticals and Krav Maga). Come _on,_ keeping a knife on him would be more than a little idiotic, and land him in _jail_ , if he cut every person who told him he was making _naughty_ life choices.

_Now remember, LO, no matter how much you might want to, you don’t get stabby with Karen, okay?_

Much easier to snap at them, then ghost them, fire them, block them, delete them- all of it. Oh, he must have dumped at least twenty girlfriends for trying to turn him into their archaic, baseless ideas of a “real” man. And what the hell did that even mean? Did they think he would stick around and listen to their “advice” too? Pfft, the sex wasn’t _that_ good. Of course one of them actually _did_ believe that he would stick around just for her “talents” in bed.

_Lucifer herself-_

Amora Tress belonged in a padded room, and coming from _him_ , that was saying something. He should have dumped her after the third date, but for some entirely self-loathing reason that was in no way related to that _empty as hell_ sex, he dated her for thirteen maddening months _._ In the three years of therapy since then, he was fairly certain his “reasoning” had something to do with that assault when he was 17, a younger sibling inferiority complex, and daddy issues.

Oh but what had the final straw been? Had it been her verbal abuse? Had it been because he came home one day and found her actually _shredding_ his entire closet with a pair of kitchen shears? Had it been because she’d stolen his laptop and _deleted_ his first draft of Starboy from the hard drive like some Alcatraz escapee? As though he wouldn’t have saved another copy of it elsewhere?!

_ALWAYS KEEP A BACKUP OF A BACKUP._

No, it hadn’t been any of those _obvious_ reasons to get the hell out of that situation. Instead, it had been on March 15, 2016- because why _wouldn’t_ a backstabber go for the kill on the Ides of March?

Lip curling, he continued his silent study of the circle of light on the bathroom wall and grit his teeth, flipping open and closing his knife with more force because, _fucking hell,_ remembering it made his blood _boil._ That day was cemented in his memory as though it had happened yesterday. The CCTV in his parking garage with supposed 24/7 security caught his evil ex _skipping_ (no joke) up to his car at 3:07am that morning to commit the crime of the century:

_SHE SLASHED MY BRAND NEW $1700 TIRES._

_How am I still THIS angry after THREE YEARS?_

At least those two security guards on duty caught _evil incarnate_ attempting to sacrifice his Jag to her dark lord before she bashed his taillights with a golf club too. They detained her in their office and called the cops, and him, of course, but he hadn’t answered because it had been, you know, 3:15 in the morning:

_“You’ve reached Loki. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial someone else because I don’t care.”_

The _one_ time he actually _would have_ cared.

“ _Uh yeah, hi, Mr. Odinson, I apologize for calling at this hour, but, um, this is Max from City Parking on West Broad-”_

The other attendant had been in a panic, shouting “ _Woah woah woah woah wait nooooo- that’s Prince Lo’s car?!”_ in the background.

Stars above, he _despised_ that moniker. It started floating around the overly privileged (guilty) lower west side social scene around 2011 thanks to his real estate “king” father, and he wanted to throttle the not-as-clever-as-they-thought-they-were idiot who started it. The background attendant had shouted something about telling his mother that he loved her and regretting that he hadn’t deleted his search history while ‘Max from City Parking’ continued the voicemail:

_"There was a security situation here that unfortunately impacted your vehicle-”_

_“I’m not a SITUATION-”_ Amora’s voice had been shrill and echoey somewhere in that small security office _“-I am a HUMAN!”_

Nice try. A demon spawn is _NOT_ human.

_“And you are illegally detaining me!”_

_“A woman named Amora Tress is the responsible party, and the authorities have been notified. Please call me as soon as possible. Again, my name is Max, and my number is-”_

He had seen the missed call four hours later, after lacing up his sneakers, grabbing his phone, putting in his earbuds (ah the days of tangled wires before AirPods), and walking out of his building for his morning run. He didn’t get the voicemail alert until he was at the corner of Desbrosses and Greenwich, about an 11 minute run away from the garage. By that point, the damage had been done, so he just called to say he was on his way and calmly ran back to it. Naturally, the calm ended the second he saw his tires. Never in his life had he wanted to choke someone to death. She was lucky the cops had arrested her on charges of criminal mischief in the second degree, and he couldn’t reach her neck behind those jail bars. At some point- he couldn’t recall the exact date -she pleaded ‘no contest’ after bargaining with the prosecutor that lowered the charges from a class D felony to a misdemeanor instead. She avoided a 5 year prison sentence in favor of a $3,000 fine- _pennies_ to her trust fund bank account -and a sixth month probation. He never bothered to actually break up with her. He just blocked her number, as well as her social, and filed a restraining order against her.

Head shaking, he set his knife down on the counter and ran a hand through his hair. Why was he wasting the little mental energy he had left on some of his worst memories, all of which involved people that he’d never loved? Releasing a heavy breath through his mouth, he refocused his thoughts on the person he _did_ love. Honestly, if Sig slashed his tires, he would probably manage to somehow find it arousing. Or compliment her knife skills. Not that he didn’t already know this but-

_MAD LOVE (adjective + noun) def. Unable to think in a clear or sensible way when in the presence of someone for whom one experiences frantic desire for and/or is excessively fond. Example: Loki Odinson, upon seeing Sigyn Frey smile at him on 01 January 2017, developed a severe case of mad love, which is to this day, incurable. See also: Helluva drug._

Leaning his head back, he pulled both hands down his face. At what point would he be forced to _tell_ her (not just mention in passing) to go to a doctor and get an Rx to knock her out at night? The idea of saying _“this is what you SHOULD do”_ went against everything in him, but it had now been a month, and with her tossing and turning in his bed, he was barely making it through the days. He had tried a dozen times to get up and go to the couch instead, but she cried some version of _“please don’t go, I’ll be still, I promise”_ every time, and every time, the guilt for even _thinking_ of leaving her alone forced him to stay put.

_Yes, but you’re on the verge of an episode thanks to this god awful sleep deprivation, LO._

Jaw clenching, he looked at the floor. That version of him was _not_ all spontaneous fun and boundless, euphoric creative energy. Shiny Happy Loki sounded great in theory, but that whole _“I am a god, no seriously, I am a GOD, you dull creatures”_ part had a tendency to land him in a hospital, and the crash from the high was even _worse._ He’d been shockingly stable in the two years that he’d been with Sig, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way if he continued down this road. His meds and CBT and gym sessions could only do so much.

“I really _will_ start seeing creepy shit at the end of my hallway,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair again.

_You cannot put this off any longer, LO. You have to tell her today. She has to go to a doctor._

Nodding once to himself, he turned to go back to his bedroom, but he jumped, grabbing the edge of the counter when he saw Sigyn standing in the doorway.

“Dammit, Sig,” he exhaled, rolling his eyes, “you need to wear a bell.”

She dropped her eyes from his to look at the floor instead, and his stomach twisted. He had a sinking feeling about that look on her face. He _always_ had a sinking feeling. He’d been sinking for over a month, and a part of him really wished his body would just give up and drown already.

“So…” she said, picking at her thumbnail as that one syllable hovered over his head like a raincloud threatening to open up and drench him.

He swallowed. “So...what?”

She didn’t answer, just continued to chip away at the dark purple nail polish on her thumb. His heart was pounding so hard, it actually hurt his ribs. Why wasn’t she saying anything?

_Oh my god she’s breaking up with me._

Was _this_ why she hadn’t gone to work? After all he'd done for her?! Was this the _“we need to talk”_ conversation that they were _never_ supposed to have because 100% pure forever dream girl Sigyn Frey was supposed to be his goddamn _endgame?!_

_I was a thirty-SIX year old loaded gun._

_This isn’t happening..._

_A bottle of oxy…_

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this..._

_A noose around the neck._

_Not with THIS girl..._

_A razor to the wrist._

_PLEASE DON’T END THIS, SIG..._

“I’m seeing my doctor’s PA at ten,” she said quietly, lifting her eyes to his, “and I haven’t seen her before, but I need to see _someone,_ and I want you to come with me, if that’s okay.”

All the air in his lungs spilled out so fast it gave him a headrush. She wasn’t breaking up with him. She just wanted him to help her. Could one die of _relief?_ Bloody hell, he adored her, and if she genuinely knew how much, she might think he needed to increase his dose.

“Of course it’s okay,” he said after finding his voice, blinking rapidly to clear the salt burning his eyes, “I’ll text Val that I need a raincheck on lunch.”

Rocking up onto the balls of his feet, he stretched forward, and pulled her into him, though it felt like she yanked him to her rather than the other way around. She glanced back and forth between his eyes, then exhaled slowly.

“I just...I...I really need you...just you...no one else,” she whispered, reaching inside his chest, digging her nails in, and dragging him to her by the bleeding mess of heart strings now twisted around her fingers.

She was not only the sun, but also the moon, constantly dragging his confused, chaotic tides toward her from hundreds of thousands of miles away. He leaned his forehead down to hers.

“I’ll go anywhere you want me to.”

To be continued...

_* Chapter Song "SGL" covered by So Below (original by Now, Now) *_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is listening to "Karma" by PLAZA while waiting in line at Ground Support the day Tony dies(April 2019). "Arts and Crafts: by Darci is playing in Loki's car on the way back to Sigyn's place after the funeral(April 2019). Loki was listening to "GDFR (K. Theory remix)" by Flo Rida in his earbuds while running when he got the call that Amora had slashed his tires(March 2016). 
> 
> These are the actual NYC locations I envisioned (in case that interests you):  
> Sigyn's Building 159 Prince St, New York, NY 10012  
> Ground Support Cafe, 399 W Broadway, New York, NY 10012  
> Tony's Building, 56 Leonard St, New York, NY 10013  
> Howard's Building (memorial service), 380 Rector Place, New York, NY 10280  
> Loki's Building, 55 Thompson St, New York, NY 10012
> 
> My "notes" would NEVER END, so I will keep my mouth shut. I just want to hear your "notes", person-generous-enough-to-read-my-words. Readers comments are so important to me. Assuming said comments aren't something like "this is trash" (yikes), nothing means more to me than seeing someone was moved enough to let me know how this story affected them. Kudos are awesome too of course. I know a lot of people don't give them until they've finished a story though, and I understand. Just know that it DOES help with motivation to keep going when I know that someone likes what I'm doing in the process rather waiting until it's over. Pretty big deal. Thank you so much for reading and please subscribe/bookmark! See you in chapter 5! <3 -Jen


	5. This Helen of Troy (Worth Drowning For)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT**  
> CHANGES TO NEW YEAR, SAME HABIT October 2020:  
> The previous update was "chapter 4" on September 5. Since then, I have revised the chapter lengths. This won't matter to first time readers of New Year, however, if you are a returning reader, this chapter 5 that you are about to read (posting 12 OCT 2020) will look like a repeat of content you already read at some point. Allow me to explain.  
> The "original" version of New Year had ABSURDLY long chapters, and prior to this newest post, I have gone back through and split the chapters up a bit. The same content is still all there, no worries, but what had been 4 chapters prior to today (oct 12), is now seven chapters. Therefore the NEW content, that is- it's new if you'd been keeping up with every update -starts in chapter EIGHT, which I am also posting today.  
> Again, previous content has not been removed from the "original" version, and I have not added content to those chapters I'd already posted (reminder: that has now been separated into SEVEN chapters).  
> *** Returning readers who already finished the previous update, which was on 05 Sep 2020, need not play "catch-up". The only new content for you all is CHAPTER EIGHT, so, just skip ahead. ***  
> ***HOWEVER, readers who had been following New Year, but missed out on my previous update (which HAD BEEN chapter "4" at the time of original posting on 05 September 2020), the "new" content for you all starts in chapter six- "STARBOY INTERLUDE". ***

**_~ That same day… 10:07 am, May 9, 2019 ~_ **

**_(Still eight months before “present day” New Year’s Eve 2020)_ **

“120 over 68.” Shaun, the nurse who had ushered Sigyn and Loki into an exam room at her doctor’s office, unwound a velcro blood pressure cuff from her upper arm.

“Excellent. Pulse is normal. No fever. Looks like you’ve lost ten pounds since we saw you for your physical in January. Was that intentional? Your BMI is barely hanging on to the lower end of healthy for your height, hon.”

“I have a low appetite lately, I guess,” she admitted, clearing her throat.

She sat up a bit taller, plainly nervous, her fingers digging into the paper covered edge of the medical exam bed. Her eyes moved to Loki standing across from her with his hands in his pockets, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging wink as Shaun continued talking to her.

“Well, if that’s something that concerns you, and I’m not saying it should or shouldn’t, then make sure you tell Christine, our PA, ok? She’ll go over all the symptoms you told me about. Don’t worry, Ms. Frey, we’ll get you all taken care of,” he reassured her, giving her a warm smile, then he left them alone.

She slumped forward, putting her face in her hands. _"No appetite lately,”_ she mimicked herself, groaning at the whiny tone, “do I sound pathetic?”

“Not at all,” Loki said, crossing the room to her.

She let out a surprised squeak when he lifted her a few inches from the edge, then spun around and took her seat, his long legs dangling over the sides. He pulled her to sit down in front of him, and she scooted back as close to him as possible, settling all her weight against his chest. They stayed there, unmoving save for the rising and falling of their chests. If only the WiFi wasn’t so rotten in here, he would have used the time to edit those total disasters masquerading as “chapters” in book three. If Sig wasn’t so exhausted, maybe they could talk about _something._ If he had eaten a decent damn breakfast, maybe he wouldn’t be so cranky. And if Sig had any interest in sex at all... ever, maybe they could _really_ make use of the extra wait. Oh he could see it so perfectly. She would whisper _“what if we get caught”_ while he slid his hand down the front of her shorts.

_Christ._

Probably wasn’t wise to have her backside pressing into his crotch like this. Also not wise to bury his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. Did she have any idea how good she smelled? Like salt and sun and...kiwi?

_That is YOUR sunscreen on YOUR face, you dimwit._

Eyes rolling at his _brilliance_ , he sighed. The seconds dragged on into minutes that felt like hours, which made his annoyance and cumulative anxiety impossible to ignore. He had reached the point of counting his breaths, and doing what his therapist said. Focus on basic things.

_Are their tiles on the floor?-then count them. Pictures on the wall?-what shapes are they? Okay. Now do that until you start breathing properly._

At least they weren’t stuck out there in the waiting room without privacy. Panicking in public was mortifying _._ Shaun had taken them straight into this room after Sig signed in at the reception desk, which had been- he checked his watch _-bloody hell, FORTY minutes ago._ His breathing picked back up. How much longer was this going to take? Surely the PA would come in at any moment, right? He would do well to take a walk, but he didn’t want to leave his girl alone. Chewing his lip, he eyed the space around him to find those ordinary things again.

_These walls are too close. The ceiling is too low. That window is sealed shut. These horrid glaring lights are giving me a headache. Good god, why won’t that child in the next room stop screaming?!_

Wow. Pointing out basic things was _not_ working. Suddenly everything around him felt very much akin to a cage...a smells-like-bleach, linoleum and fluorescent, recirculated air _cage._ A wave of what felt like motion sickness hit him harder than Hela’s fist to his face, and he swallowed nervously. He gazed longingly at the side pocket of his laptop bag where he kept two emergency Xanax inside an empty pack of spearmint gum. He had always been, and continued to be, extremely careful and discriminatory with those pills, limiting himself to using them only as a last resort.

_You don’t need one, LO._

_Uh...I beg to differ._

He groaned into Sigyn’s shoulder. After living with the back and forth arguing in his head for three decades, one would think he could tune it out like a mother ignoring the incessantly bickering children in the other room. Granted, said mother had probably swallowed a “mother’s little helper” aka _Valium_ to deal with it. Maybe he should give a pet name to his emergency stash. “Loki’s Little Helper” was not an option for obvious phallic reasons.

_BIG helper, you mean._

_Ha...ok._

_SHE made #massivemanhattanman a thing, not me._

_Does that make you feel better, LO?_

“Go take a walk, Loki.” Sigyn’s quiet, somewhat dejected voice pulled him out of his shiny object thoughts.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he lied, kissing the side of her head.

“No, you’re so obviously not,” she said, pushing off the bed to get out of his way.

“Your energy is all…” she waved a hand at him, “...I don’t know... _prickly."_

She made a face. “That was a bad word choice, wasn’t it.”

Tilting his head, he shrugged one shoulder.

“Not _bad_ , per se,” he said, starting to step down, “I would have gone with _edgy,_ I think.”

She hummed in response, then gestured to the door. “Anyway. Just go get some fresh air. It’s better than seeing you pop another pill.”

Eyes on the floor, he went dead still with one leg halfway off the bed.

“It’s better than seeing me pop another pill,” he repeated slowly, enunciating each word. He lifted his slightly narrowed eyes to hers after a few beats.

_Did she just-_

“That came out so so so _so_ wrong,” she said, taking a step back as he slid off the bed, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?”

Surely he was overreacting. Surely he was just hypersensitive to the slightest possibility that this woman that he adored might be criticizing him like _everyone else._

_Am I acting like I’m jonesing for benzos?_

_Not what she meant, LO._

She _knew_ how hard he worked to stay on top of his fucked up head without being obsessive about it, so why the hell was she scolding him for “popping a pill” when he _needed_ one? Had she flipped a switch on him? Was this it? Honeymoon over? Two years in and now it was time to get to business and fix the hell out of this trash prince for his own good?

_Please don’t pull that shit with me, Sig...don’t be like the rest of them._

She began to shake visibly, and her lip started to wobble. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry, sweetheart.”

He meant it. He wasn’t angry. He was just scared that he’d lost his girl, or maybe it was the other way around. She’d never expressed concern about his occasional _necessary_ use of Xans before, and this was new and all kinds of wrong and _unfair._

_Dramatic much, LO?_

_Nothing new there- No one ever accused me of being CHILL._

She stepped back again, and he followed her, frowning at the space between them, wishing she would stop backing away from him. She looked too meek, and he felt too predatory. He wanted to close the distance _that second,_ but she looked like she would flinch away, and seeing her flinch away from him would be _horrifying,_ so he kept his feet glued to the hideous pinkish-beige floor tiles.

“I really hope that you were not suggesting that the pathetic, _broken_ version of me is exhibiting behaviors of which you don’t approve.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, and his stomach started to plummet, his hope that he was just being hypersensitive along with it. He looked her up and down, replaying his words over in his head, and _oh_ they’d come out with more venom than he’d intended, and...had he said them through his teeth? Oh shit-

_FIX THIS._

“Sig-”

"Loki, _NO,"_ she cut him off, releasing a shuddering breath as she looked all over his face with wide eyes, “I know how it sounded, but I swear that is a _huge_ misinterpretation.”

The fear in her voice twisted his gut into absolutely _nauseating_ knots, and he exhaled the breath he’d been holding unaware. He reached up to rub his temples, which were apparently now covered in microscopic beads of sweat. Okay so “prickly” was actually _spot on._ Dropping his hands to his sides, he opened his mouth to apologize for being the _worst boyfriend of the year,_ but she lunged forward, throwing her arms around his waist, and the sudden move pushed all the air out of his lungs in an _“umph!”_ that would have been comical in just about any other situation. Heaving a sigh of relief, he leaned his cheek on the top of her head and hugged her shoulders.

“Dying stars above,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest, “I love you so much. Everyone who told you that you are broken, past and present, can all go to hell.”

Breath hitching, he squeezed her even more tightly, trying to pull her closer. To think, she had finally decided to get some help, to put herself out there, so to speak, yet he’d successfully managed to turn it around and make everything about _himself._ Honestly, she ought to smack him for being so damn self-centered, but rather than be angry _with_ him, she was angry _for_ him.

_I do not deserve this girl’s love at ALL._

He moved to kiss the top of her hair, but she moved too, lifting her head from his chest to look up at him, and he could have sworn his body forgot how to breathe. _For the love-_ her mouth was less than an inch from his, and she was sliding her hands out from under his arms and up his stomach, and even with his shirt still on, it felt like...Valhalla? Bit of an obscure reference, but “heaven” felt overused.

“I hate it. They just _had_ to change you, didn’t they. And for the life of me, I do not understand why. Ugh, Loki, you’re so...forgive the fluffy cringe here but...you are so damn amazing _._ Maybe they were just jealous or trying to make up for their own failings by making you feel like shit too. I don’t know. The Karens of the world aren’t worth your mental energy.”

Chewing her lip, she shook her head, looking between his eyes and his mouth.

“Loki, _you_ experience life in _your_ body, not me or anyone else, and no one else has the right to tell you how to live that life or tell you who you are. Plain and simple. You decide who you want to be, who you _are._ I mean, obviously as long as _‘living’_ doesn’t entail, you know, _stabbing_ people or something-” she rolled her eyes “-that was dumb. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Head shaking, she sighed heavily. “Point is, I will _never_ be that girl who tries to take that decision away from you, okay? You could decide to change your name even, and I would go along with it. I’d call you what you want to be called. Wait...shit...please don’t change it though. You wouldn't do that, would you? I mean, your name is off the charts stupid sexy. Do you have any idea how many times I have listened to that _‘Low Key, low key you should really get to know me’_ song? On repeat in my ears at work ALL FEBRUARY just because it says _your name_ about a hundred times.”

He stared down at her, his vital organs once again forgetting their basic functions. _All_ February? He knew she liked that song, but he hadn’t known it was to _that_ extent, nor that it was because his name- a variation of it, that is -played the starring role. He’d guessed that was part of it, but not the _whole._ She and Darcy sang it to him from the stage at the surprise birthday she threw for him in February. They’d been completely blitzed of course, and the entire room had been _highly_ entertained when Sig just kept belting the lyrics like she either hadn’t noticed or didn’t give a damn when Darcy fell flat on her face after tripping over the microphone stand. Despite crying from laughing so hard, his heart had been on the verge of exploding out of his chest. His heart would explode any moment now too. He had never loved his name more than he did in this second, and it was _all her fault._

“So, that thing about popping pills-” she stopped abruptly, reaching up to rub her thumbs under her eyes and sniffed back more tears. After another heavy sigh, she hung her head and continued.

“Yeah, that was about _me._ This past month-” another pause, another sniffle “-I feel like it’s my fault that you have any anxiety or writer’s block or restlessness or whatever at _all,_ and if I see you open that pill bottle, it’s an easy _visual_ reminder that I am making you miserable. It’s easier to pretend you’re still at least somewhat into me if I don’t _see_ you taking them. That’s all.”

He couldn’t help the instinctive narrowing of his eyes or the clench of his jaw. What the hell? She didn’t think he was _somewhat into her?_ Alright, she was becoming far too proficient at self-loathing. They couldn’t _both_ be off their rockers. This was not okay at all. Leaning his head back, he let go of her and pulled his hands down his face for the thousandth time in just that _hour_.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, lifting his head again to look down at her, “I have been taking those meds as needed, and not even _that_ often, since I was 23...you know... _ten years_ before you and I met.”

“I know,” she gulped, “it’s one of the few things I _do_ actually know.”

He bent down to her eye level, practically nose to nose. “You know a lot more than you give yourself credit for.”

Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and whatever words he’d intended to say beyond that flew straight out that sealed shut window.

“Sig, you have to let me kiss you.”

For a few blissfully ignorant seconds, he was unaware that he’d said it out loud. But then he _was_ aware of it, and the mental facepalm gave him an instant headache.

_Congratulations- you are a desperate idiot._

Puffing out his cheeks, he ran a hand through his hair and released the breath through his mouth in a whoosh.

“Think I’ll have that Xanax now...no offense,” he added, lest she get weird about it again.

Rolling his eyes, he started to step back, but she didn’t let him. Pushing up onto her toes, she slid her arms up around his neck and kissed him (not gently) for the first time in a _month_ . He froze, eyes wide open as his central nervous system glitched- _say huh do way-wayyy-wait WHAAAAT?_ -for about three seconds before the _electric_ sensation of his girl’s lips on his lit the fuses of trillions of dopamine fireworks inside his head. Groaning deep in his chest, his eyes slammed shut as the explosions lit up every cell in his body.

_Fuuuuucking hell-_

His hands automatically went to her hips as she laced her fingers into his hair, tugging on the strands until he winced.

_OW._

The pain on his scalp only intensified his need to drive his hips into hers until his back ached from the effort. _Why_ couldn’t his tongue reach further into her mouth? He walked her backwards, only vaguely aware that he was doing so because her black and white Adidas sneakers were squeaking on the linoleum. She gasped into his mouth when the small of her back hit the edge of the sink under the office window, knocking over a jar of tongue depressors. It started to roll off the counter, and she flailed a bit to reach behind her and set it right as he continued kissing her like his life depended on it.

Croaking his name against his lips, sounding like it pained her to keep quiet, she lifted her leg to wrap around his hip as best as she could given their height difference. Where had this come from? Sig had gone, not just from 0 to 60, but from 0 to _200_ in three seconds. He groaned, kissing her harder as her hands slid down his back and over his ass, dragging him impossibly closer. _Holy-_ did she want him to fuck her right here in her doctor’s office?

_I’m down for it if you are, sweetheart._

Reaching under her thighs, he lifted her onto the counter and yanked her to the edge.

_Finally. Finally. FINALLY._

Just as he popped open the button of her shorts, someone knocked on the door. It was official- the universe despised him.

_I swear I’m gonna burn this place to the ground._

She let out a little shriek, disentangling herself from him at lightning speed, and she dropped her feet to the ground. She leaned back casually against the edge with a classic _“nothing to see here”_ expression. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she started whistling when the door swung open and the PA walked in.

“Hi, I’m Christine,” her voice was warm and gentle, and he _loathed_ it right now. “Sorry for the wait. Two of our staff called in sick today, and we’ve had to make do at a snail’s pace.”

As Sigyn introduced herself, he slid his hands into his pockets, willing the...uh...pressing...situation in his trousers away. He was halfway back to normal, which was good enough, so he turned around and offered a smile, which the woman returned.

“Loki,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you. Husband?”

_Oh don’t I wish._

“Boyfriend,” he shook his head.

_Not good enough. Change that. I mean- forever dream girl, right?_

He looked sideways, eyeing said girl. She looked back at him, one eyebrow to her hairline, and suddenly his heart was out the gate faster than a triple crown champion.

_Sigyn..._

_...Odinson._

She tilted her head, a frown pulling at her _oh so pretty_ mouth that he wanted to put his all over.

“Boyfriends are more fun anyway,” Christine chuckled, gesturing for Sigyn to sit on the exam bed.

 _Eh._ He laughed. Sort of? Not really. It was an attempt. Convincing enough to keep the atmosphere light and airy. Speaking of air...he needed some.

“Do you mind if I leave for a moment, Sig?” he asked, giving her a pleading look.

“No, go right ahead,” she said, then grabbed his wrist to stop him as he walked past her, “don’t take too long, okay?”

“Of course,” he kissed her forehead quickly and disappeared behind the door.

Walking back down the long winding hall toward the exit, he passed the checkout area where several staff members in dark blue scrubs were milling about. It took him a few seconds to realize he’d seen a hardback copy of _Starboy_ sticking out of a messenger bag sitting on top of the desk behind the counter. And then he heard it-

Multiple gasps and _“oh my gods”_ from behind said counter.

Okay, he was _not_ famous enough to get such reactions everywhere, so being recognized by- he did a quick headcount _-seven_ staff members of this one office was an absolute _shock,_ especially since Shaun hadn’t said anything, and neither had Christine. It was flattering, to be sure, but with everything going on in his personal life lately, interactions with fans drained him more than they ought to. For that reason, he was tempted to give them a little wave and move on, but these lovely people (receptionists? nurses?) pointing to his book and giving him several thumbs up and waving at him had infectious beaming smiles that he couldn’t resist. Grinning crookedly, he turned and walked back to the counter with a finger over his mouth. He gestured for someone to give him the book, and the young man who grabbed it for him put one shaking hand on his forehead and one on his chest like he couldn’t breathe, but he kept his voice low.

“Ho-ly shit. Loki Fucking Odinson.”

“Not my middle name, but I’ll take it,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow at him when he put both hands over his cheeks.

He flipped open the front cover and grabbed a pen from the cup next to a display of business cards and a bottle of hand sanitizer.

“You are a king,” he said, watching Loki’s hand as he wrote what was quickly turning into a short _essay_ across the page.

“Am I?” He smiled, keeping his eyes on the page. “Glad I finally leveled up from prince.”

“Nah, you leveled up to a god,” another of them cut in.

“Can’t level up to a god until book three,” he grinned at her from under his brow, and like her co-worker, she covered her cheeks which had turned red.

The guy who had handed him the book leaned over the counter to look at the page as Loki continued writing.

“Would you make it out to Troy?”

“Sure thing, darling. Spelled T-R-O-Y, I assume?”

He nodded adamantly, and eyes popping, turned to his co-workers, mouthing _“darling?- I. Am. Dying”_

“I’m not worth dying for, Troy, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Loki chuckled, handing the book back.

Troy gaped at the page, tracing his thumb over the slanted handwriting, then he looked up at Loki, offering it back to him. Head tilting, Loki lifted an eyebrow.

“Something wrong with it?”

“NO,” Troy said immediately, shaking his head, “no no no no. This is absolutely- my god, I can’t even. I thought it would be generic, like, ‘best wishes, from LO’ or something. And I just- would you, um, read this out loud? I feel like I need to hear it to get it. Not that I have reading comprehension problems or anything. It’s just- it’s _yours,_ you know? I went to that signing in Brooklyn in fall 2016, and you read an excerpt, and your voice speaking your words is like...it just really kicks me in the chest.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Loki said quietly, running a hand through his hair. He exhaled, staring at his own words.

 _"Is it January?”_ he read, pausing to take a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together. Troy had a good point. This kid wasn’t the only one who was about to get kicked in the chest. _Shit-_ his voice was going to crack. Licking his lips, he started again.

“Is it January? The parking garage shouldn’t be this hot. 

I turn down the A/C, unable to look at anything other than her.

I didn’t know she would look this good in my passenger seat.

I want to lock this girl in here with me.

I’m rolling hard, but I didn’t take anything other than her hand.

This girl is a dealer’s dream. I would give anything to keep her.

I think all she has to do is ask. She asks what my name is.

Her voice is expensive, fine pinot noir. Soft. Silken. Subtle. Complex.

It should be paired with everything I am.

Everything but my name. My name is mine alone. I’m keeping it.

I tell her I am called many things:

Downer. Upper. Hater. Faker. Taker.

Never-Let-Them-See-You-Breaker.

She shakes her head, and her hair is a waterfall over her shoulder.

My hands want to swim in it. I don’t let them. I know I’ll drown.

She licks her perfect teeth and climbs onto my lap.

I cannot breathe. She pulls me in too close. I am in a stranglehold.

This Helen of Troy. This destructive Siren. This little white rabbit.

I don’t want to go to Wonderland. I can’t take another bad trip.

I’m following her anyway. Wonderland might be perfect this time.

If I’m going to spiral, I want it to be into her.

What’s your name, she asks again. 

Stop singing to me, beautiful girl. I’m not ready to die.

I think my name might be Alice, and I think I will follow this girl anywhere.

I cannot tell her my name. It’s mine.

I say they call me many things:

Bar-boy. Car-boy.

Put-Another-Dollar-In-The-Jar-Boy.

Watch-Out-Or-He’ll-Break-Your-Heart-Boy.

Forever-Trying-Too-Hard-Boy.

Won’t-Go-Very-Far-Boy.

Dying-Star-Boy.

That’s the one, she says.

Which one? I said a thousand things, and I don’t remember any of it.

She blinks at me with iridescent eyes. Are they silver?

I think they are stars.

I think infinite light years fill the space between us.

I think I’ll die before I get the chance to be anywhere near her.

You are the last one, she says.

What was the last one? Dying Star Boy?

I think she’s right. I think that might be all I am.

She shakes her head again. Her hair is in my face.

This girl is filling my lungs, and I’m still trying not to drown.

I don’t think anyone else would care if I did, but I’m not ready.

Not ready to die. Not yet.

There is an echo somewhere in my car. It’s her voice.

It tells me I’m not dying.

I think I am, beautiful girl.

Her velvet mouth burns my cheek. It moves to my ear.

I won’t let you die, Starboy, I swear.

This girl is not a siren. This girl is my savior.

I grab her hair, and she begs for my name.

I give it to her. I’ll give her anything she wants.

I don’t care if I drown..."

He paused, sucking in his cheeks before letting out a heavy breath and finishing what he'd written.

"Some things are worth drowning for, Troy. Find those things, grab them, and don’t let go. Loki Odinson x."

Clearing his throat as he closed the book, he turned his head away from them, coughing into his arm to cover up the sound of the sniffle that he couldn’t control. _Goddammit-_ stupid fucking tears. The silence was deafening for a few seconds, and he had the urge to run out the door. He turned back to them instead, only after blinking away the evidence of more emotion than he could handle right now. _Finally_ the silence broke.

“Did you _just_ come up with that?” the woman next to Troy asked, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

Rather than risk responding verbally when he felt like a vulnerable wreck, Loki nodded, setting the book back into Troy’s waiting hand.

“Ugh, your _mind,"_ she seemed to choke on the word, putting a hand over her eyes.

_My mind is a disaster._

“Grade A 100% pure talent right there,” another said.

_Trust me, it’s not worth it._

He heard his father’s voice echoing painfully loud in the prison bars of his “grade A 100% pure talented” mind. It grated on his ears, fighting with his mother on the other side of a dark red and gold painted wall in a Tribeca palace overlooking an eight million strong city after a long day of earning enough cash to drown in on bubbled pieces of glass and steel in a concrete jungle of mostly shattered hopes and neon pipe dreams.

_“What is WRONG with him, Frigga? 27-year old BOY. Is it the pills? Do the pills make him cry like that? I didn’t raise him to be weak.” … “He has NEVER EVER been weak. FULL STOP.” … “Ha. Tell that to all those drugs he uses to poison himself.” … “You talk as though he doesn’t need his DOCTOR-PRESCRIBED medication!” … “No, what he needs is to use that top Ivy league education that I PAID FOR like an actual grown up and do something of VALUE with his life.” … “And what is that exactly? Go on. Please educate me on what YOU value. Because you clearly don’t value YOUR OWN SON.” … “I value an ACTUAL MAN who doesn’t rely on pharmaceuticals to stop that pathetic water buildup in his eyes! I swear I need to find a jar, label it ‘Loki’s Tears’, and I ought to make him put a dollar in it for every damn one of them!”_

Forehead creasing, Loki pressed his lips together lest they openly wobble _pathetically,_ and put on a smile for the excited group of people standing in front of him. These people seemed to think he _had_ done something of _value._ Then it occurred to him that he wanted to keep the words from Troy’s copy. He had indeed just come up with it on the spot, and after a month of nothing worthwhile from his head, this might as well have been a masterpiece.

“Troy, I need to take a quick photo of the inside of your book.”

Troy gave it to him without hesitation. “Yeah of course. I was wondering if it was something you might want for, I don’t know, book three...maybe?” He smiled big and toothy at Loki.

“Exactly,” he snorted softly at the wiggling of Troy’s eyebrows, “now listen, I’ll make you a deal, which is obviously being recorded on your friend’s phone,” he side-eyed the girl to his left who had been filming the entire interaction, though not rudely.

“I will include you in the dedication for book three if you do not share _these two pages_ on any of your social media accounts. And,” he added, holding up a finger when Troy made the most disappointed face in the history of humanity, “I will tag you in the caption of this photo that I post on _my_ Insta today. I’ll speak highly of you. All of you.” He looked around at the group. “Sound good?”

They responded with a chorus of “hell yeahs” and bouncy nods that put a genuine smile on his face.

“Good,” he said, opening up the notes app on his phone, “let me take down your names and socials, so I don’t miss any of you in the tags. Then I’ll take a quick photo with you all if you like.”

After getting their information, there was a bit of a scramble as everyone gathered into one group shot, then there were hugs all around because they _deserved_ it, and he wanted it. He wanted these hugs from (non-creepy) lovely people who actually gave some semblance of a damn about him. He pointed to the hall of exam rooms.

“I don’t recall which room Shaun took Sigyn Frey to?”

One of them- um... _Daniel,_ that’s right -piped up suddenly.

“Did you really write _Sunlight_ for her?”

He didn’t want to answer, even though it was an obvious one. Daniel nodded, clearly understanding Loki’s silence, then leaned down to check his computer screen.

“Looks like they took Ms. Frey to room 7. Here, I’ll show you-”

“That’s alright,” Loki shook his head, smiling as he backed away, “I’ll just follow those convenient little numbers on the doors.”

They waved, and he turned around, walking toward the end of the hall. Right as he touched the door handle, it swung open, and Sigyn’s face collided with his chest.

“Shit, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, reaching up to steady her since she looked a bit dizzy.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled, then she looked up at him, “where’d you go? I thought you were coming back?”

“I was…” he gestured vaguely toward the checkout counter with the staff, all of whom were looking at them with huge smiles.

She looked at them, then back at him, and smiled weakly.

“Glad you had a bright spot in your day,” she said, her sad gaze moving down from his, looking at her shoes as though they were the most fascinating things in the universe.

His eyebrows pulled together, and he shook his head. Bright spot? _A_ bright spot? As in, _one_ bright spot? Was she out of her damn mind? Sunlight incarnate goes behind the clouds for a bit, and now imagines herself to not be the _brightest_ thing anyone with working eyes would ever see? And after that _mind-blowing kiss_ fifteen minutes ago? He squinted at her, eyes glazing over as jigsaw puzzle letters fell from the sky, effortlessly piecing themselves together amidst the chaotic sleep-deprived synapses deep inside his skull:

_Ninety-three million miles away, this far-out-girl._

_Blind when I look right at her, this gorgeous girl._

_Drags me right into her, this magnetic girl._

_Lights up every black sky, this electric girl._

_Pushes winter back, this endless-summer-girl._

_Sweat when we touch- come burn me up, girl._

_Zero gravity- take me high as fuck, girl._

_Fly me to the stars, trip-trip-trippy-girl._

_Getting runner’s high from this catch-me-if-you-can-girl._

_Loves it when I hit the gas, this live-fast-die-right-girl._

_How are you real? Say my name all night, girl._

_Hotter than hell. Don’t turn off the light, girl._

_Not sleeping well, but it’ll be alright, girl._

_Spread a little too thin, this everyone-else-first-girl._

_Clouds are rolling in, this I-don’t-know-myself-girl._

_Lost in the fog, this can’t-hear-me-when-I-call-her-girl._

_Looking all around. I’ll die if you’re gone, girl._

_Cling when we collide. So scared, but I've got you, girl._

That was...not bad.

_Shit- already forgot it._

_Shocking- try WRITING IT DOWN next time, genius._

He just barely heard a muffled sound. It might have been his name. Hard to tell. It was so far away.

“Hello? Loki? Anyone in there?”

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. He needed to stop drifting to la-la land without a pen and paper, or his laptop open, ready to record his “that’s not bad” words and store them away, safe from whatever train wreck of nonsensical words were bound to plow into them within _ten seconds._ The voice started again, as did a snapping sound in front of his eyes, breaking through the haze of- yep, there they were _-nonsensical_ words now floating in his head.

“Huh?” He blinked, then reached up to rub his eyes, groaning because _god_ it felt good.

“Your body is right here next to me, but your mind is in outer space, Starboy,” Sigyn said, clearly attempting a joke to cover up the pain in her eyes.

“Do you mind if we go to CVS on 6th and Spring before your place? Christine sent my Rx there,” she added, handing his laptop bag to him, which he hadn’t seen on her shoulder until that moment.

She didn’t wait for him to answer. She just took his hand and pulled him with her down the hall. When they walked past the people who had just been fawning all over him, she slid her arm around his waist and held him tight enough to leave bruises.

After picking up her 30 day supply of 6mg of Ambien for sleep, they did _not_ finish what they started in the office. All afternoon and into the evening, she didn’t put her mouth near his, much less anywhere else. She only took a pill, curled up next to him, gave him a terribly _chaste_ kiss, and said she loved him so much it hurt. One arm around her shoulders, he unlocked his phone and found the picture of Troy’s book. Checking that he’d tagged the correct people, he posted the [photo](http://frigidimmortals.com/starboy-ig/) just as he’d promised, captioning it “ _ **met some absolute ROCKSTARS today, and one of them asked me to sign his copy of #Starboy. I might have gotten carried away.**_”

He stared at the image for a few minutes as the first rapid wave of notifications from all these people who clearly had him on their _"he posted something!"_ list.

"God, Val, you absolute angel," he said under his breath, reading her comment, which was the _sweetest thing EVER_ \- **_@val.k.brunna: "OMG, Lo, hon, YOU are worth drowning for."_**

Then, Sam replied- **_@falconfitness_swilson: “gonna hit you in the face for hittin me in the feels like this starboy #cryininthegym_**” -and he laughed hard enough to go into a coughing fit.

"Cryin in the gym," he croaked softly. "Seriously, Sam? Hit me in the face, and I'll stab yours."

Sigyn groaned, her face screwing up. “Cryin what? Ah...so _loud._ Ding...ding...bing...bing."

“Yes, it’s a bit much. Sorry,” he said, setting the phone on his nightstand. “I silenced it.”

“What’s...going...on…” she slurred, yawning into his chest.

“You'll see tomorrow, I assume. I tagged you in the actual pic-” he stopped, frowning when he realized she was asleep. He missed her. She was finally sleeping, and it was so _good_ for her. But he missed her. He wanted to talk, to laugh, to kiss, to fuck until his eyes crossed.

_Tomorrow. Maybe._

_Please don’t make me wait another month for you, Sig._

To be continued...  
  


_"Eyes on You" by Twenty7 (chapter song)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit: Sigyn and Darcy sang "Low Key" by Ally Brooke to Loki at his birthday party(February 2019). The picture that Loki "posted" on his IG is a 100% original photo of mine. I wrote "his" words in the empty inside cover of a book from my shelf. I snapped that picture with my phone. I created the title/author/graphic and pieced it all together in photoshop. I'm not assuming that anyone will want to, but please do not repost this "screenshot."
> 
> Once again, my "notes" would NEVER END, so I will keep my mouth shut. I just want to hear your "notes", person-generous-enough-to-read-my-words. Readers comments are so important to me. Assuming said comments aren't something like "this is trash" (yikes), nothing means more to me than seeing someone was moved enough to let me know how this story affected them. Kudos are awesome too of course. I know a lot of people don't give them until they've finished a story though, and I understand. Just know that it DOES help with motivation to keep going when I know that someone likes what I'm doing in the process rather waiting until it's over. Pretty big deal. Thank you so much for reading and please subscribe/bookmark! See you in chapter 6! -Jen


	6. STARBOY INTERLUDE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year is rated M, but I still feel the need to say this-  
> In this interlude, "Starboy" talks about loving smoke. Please know that I am neither condoning nor condemning legal adults using substances, illicit or otherwise. So long as "using" doesn't hurt someone else, I am fairly neutral about it. My opinion doesn't matter anyhow- I leave the interpretation to my (hopefully) 18+ audience. I’m not here to tell adults what to think.
> 
> That first image is the book cover for Loki's novel "Starboy", which is my original digital art. Please don't repost without permission :-) Thank you!

***** Prologue to Loki’s Novel Starboy** ***

Usually I just text her since she’s not worth a phone call. However, today I did something else entirely. I actually picked up a pen and wrote a letter to her, then I folded it neatly, slid it into an envelope, put a stamp on it, and dropped it off at the post office. Forgive me for stroking my ego a bit, but I’d forgotten how very attractive my handwriting is until I wrote those first amorous sentences-

_“Oh sweet Amy, you wicked eye candy for whom I hold less than zero affection, I say this with all my heart- YOU MAKE ME SICK. That old saying ‘pick your poison’ might literally be accurate in this case. You taste amazing on my tongue, but apparently the chef NEVER cooks you long enough. Isn’t that a lovely metaphor? Please swallow that disgusting image, and allow it to really settle in your stomach. Now you know how I feel. It’s my fault really. I always forget how truly wretched you are after a few days of recovery. It’s as though while purging you from my stomach, I do so from my mind as well, and I doubt most humans have had that particular gift bestowed upon them by the powers that be. I am undoubtedly HASHTAG CURSED. Listen, yesterday I let you drag your thighs over my hips to distract me from your talons drawing blood from my back for the thousandth time, and it will not happen again. -BYE”_

I snapped a photo of the letter before I mailed it, and I intend to print it and plaster copies all over my apartment, otherwise the fault in my code will backtrack, will claim that it NEVER SAID THAT. Yes, you DID say that, and here is the evidence, you poor ill-fated boy. You are no longer allowed to forget that you despise Amy so thoroughly that you wouldn’t even wish her on your worst enemy.

Oh doesn’t THAT hold a certain poetic justice, considering I AM my own worst enemy- bloody hell, I would laugh if it weren’t so fucking tragic.

I sent that letter because I cannot stay on this goddamn Island of Incessant Winter Regrets any longer. The clouds never part in this place. Maybe that’s why I never work up the energy to leave- it’s a simple vitamin D deficiency, nothing more. Or perhaps it’s the over-consumption of vitamin A-lcohol. The excuses (justifications, more like) for staying are no longer sufficient.

I’ve been stumbling and freezing on a deserted dirty needle beach for years, watching the ever rising tide drag away the sand beneath my feet, yet what scares me most is getting on the boat that could get me out of this hell. I checked the weather app on my phone, and it says those waves are quite vicious due to a hurricane of self-doubt and grief, so perhaps I should stay put. No, I shouldn’t. I should give it my all and drown in the escape rather than wither away on this bed she chained me to inside this quicksand castle.

I suppose that leaves me with two options: sink or...sink faster. I’m not really one for the ‘slow and steady wins the race’ philosophy. Life isn’t a race. It’s just life, and it’s the only one I get.

Faster it is then. I am cynical beyond words, but maybe there is SOMETHING worth drowning for out there.

Sending that letter is me getting on that boat. I don’t expect to make it through the storm. I don’t expect to reach a summer shore on the other side, and that’s probably for the best. No doubt all that sunshine will screw me over just as soundly as these clouds because, let’s be honest here, despite all those insistent SMARTEST-IN-THE-ROOM! accolades bestowed upon me, I’m not the brightest when it comes to love. I fall for the most beautiful creatures, and all they do is lie to my face, tell me they love me too, then turn around, kick me to the ground, steal my knife and my heart, and watch me bleed out.

***** Starboy Epilogue *****

I have visions of a human who won’t cluck a talent-less, tyrannical tongue and wag a crooked finger at me. This beautiful creature never attempts to take away the things I love. She does not ask me the asinine, condescending questions posited a thousands times by the pretend lovers, the must-hovers, the concerned haters, the proud beraters, the subtle crusaders and suicide-persuaders.

Are you mad, boy? Don’t you know matches make fire?- Yes, I know. That’s the point. I play with them because I like the smell of smoke.

Stop being a bad boy. Don’t you know those cigarettes cause cancer?- Yes, I know, but you don’t seem to understand that I like the smell of smoke.

Are you really this SAD, boy? Don’t you know Russian roulette is a dangerous game? You see, son, you’ve pulled that trigger too many times, and next time that chamber won’t be empty!- YES, I KNOW, but I assure you, that bullet is no more damaging than rolling the dice in the game that you dogmatic do-gooders rigged against me.

I will say this one more time. I like the smell of smoke, and I don’t care where it comes from. A match, a cigarette, a gun...whatever. I just need that hit. I need it like I need oxygen. Smoke IS oxygen to me. You don’t understand, and that’s fine with me. Your opinion of me is of zero consequence, and I don’t believe you actually CARE about me anyway. You’re all talk.

But, on the off chance that you DO care- Please don’t. Don’t worry about me. Since I have yet to accomplish the vapid, meaningless goals that will give me the validation I need to continue smiling for your ever present cameras, I won’t aim for the kill. I swear I won’t point that barrel at anything but the stars that burn through light years of space and time to prove they once lived. They’ll be just fine. They won’t mind. They may very well be dead already.

I wish I could burn through all this cash in my pocket, in my accounts, in my investments in a future that I don’t really give a fuck about. It’s weighing me down, and what is the point of being a starboy (that’s what you call me, correct?) if you are too heavy to get high? I should probably give it all away, but I’d rather spend it on shit I don’t need.

I gave that little spiel to my shrink today, and she called me a nihilist. Apparently I talk like one. Beg your pardon, doctor? Disenfranchised and slightly traumatized yes, but a nihilist I am not, and I refuse to entertain a person who diagnoses me so unjustly. After telling her that, I said “you’re fired” to her face, and I walked out. She followed me, demanding to know why I would do such a thing.

This woman dared to shout “You’re FIRING me?” while stupidly grabbing my jacket sleeve as though that ‘MD’ attached to her name gave her the right to put her not-so-healing hand on my offensively expensive $3000 brand name second skin.

I wanted to grab her wrist and twist it while hissing “get your fucking hands OFF me” through my teeth, but I managed to keep my composure. I merely raised an eyebrow and said “I’m surprised a vegan such as yourself would touch real leather” in a polite tone. Worked like a charm. She reeled back from me, actually clutching the fake pearls around her neck, and the sight was, in a word, hilarious.

Once more, she asked why I was firing her, and I rolled my eyes hard enough to trigger a four-hour migraine. “I’m FIRING you because I like the smell of smoke, you overpaid twat.”

What can I say? I love a good metaphor wrapped in a well-executed pun. But truly, she called me a nihilist, and either she was blatantly lying to my face, or worse, she doesn’t actually know what that word means, and I don’t negotiate terms with simpletons.

One can’t genuinely claim there is no meaning to life if one has yet to bother looking for it, and since I have done neither, I am not a nihilist, Dr. Genius. I have yet to find said meaning in my life, but nonetheless, I know it exists. It exists for every human, even though I can’t stand most of them. Most humans are so full of shit. That is why gastroenterologists make bank.

I can’t say this for sure, but I think I’ll find meaning when I find that beautiful creature. She likes the smell of smoke as much as I do, and that alone makes the pursuit worth it. It won’t be an easy task by any means, since I’m not accustomed to pursuing beautiful things anymore. I don’t do anything, and they just fall into my lap. THEY pursue me, not the other way around.

One after another, using identical words, they claim to be different as they straddle me just like their predecessors did. It’s poetic, really- their obsession with being on top, with calling the shots, with controlling the pace, with ruling over me, and professing as much while riding me…on their knees. They never fully comprehend the irony. Each one fancies herself to be that one woman capable of turning the royal head until it twists clean off his shoulders.

Forgive me, but how did you come to this conclusion, princess? Also, stop calling me "prince this" and "prince that". I’m not a prince. I’m a STAR. A dying one, yes, but a dying star is still a star. Why do you think I wear these shades at night? To go along with some James Dean-esque persona? No, I wear them so I don’t accidentally blind myself with my own radiance. Now show some goddamn respect for these dazzling pearly whites, and bow that head, or I’ll blind you too.

Oh look, yet another pretty new thing is giggling at my star jokes. My father always said I had no comedic talent.

Proved him wrong.

Listen, I’ve been on page six a hundred times. Everyone knows I don’t stick around. Yet here you are, hell bent on tying me down, both figuratively and literally. I know these velvet ropes really do it for you, but I’m not your fucking submissive. I’m not your mountain to climb. I’m not your challenge. I’ll never be your greatest conquest. I know I let you ride me for a bit, but you’ll never actually drive this car. You don’t know how to drive a stick anyway, and I sure as hell won’t be your training vehicle. Go practice stalling out on some old cash-for-clunkers reject.

I think I’ll start actually looking for that beautiful creature now. I want to find her before my time on this planet runs out. For both our sakes, I want to steal her away from that endless grind, from the promise of greener grass in that corner office. Only psychopaths make it up there, and since her heart burns hotter than the sun, she’ll never get there.

Oh go ahead, and call me a pessimist (not to be confused with nihilist) if you want. That’s fine. I learned to lower my expectations to null quite some time ago, and now I don’t risk disappointment. It’s the best thing I ever did. I still do it. It’s called being present. And presently, I want to find that girl.

She may be right under my nose. She might be on the other side of this train. Maybe her stop is Canal Street, just like mine. Maybe it’s Spring. Goddammit- just please don’t live in Brooklyn. I can’t be bothered to cross THAT bridge.

Perhaps she’s a product of my fickle imagination. As I said, I have little to no faith. Come to think of it, I doubt I’ll ever love a girl the way I love that smoke. Never doubt the beauty of smoke. It hides a myriad of ugly flaws.

Dying star indeed. My vanity has reached critical mass. If I find this beautiful creature, oh she will have a long road ahead of her, but she won’t complain because, unlike every other one before her, she loves watching ME drive. She’ll even take over if I ask her to, and she’ll do it right because this girl handles my car like she was born to drive it. Foot on the gas, sixth gear, 0 to 60, heart rate through that moonroof, I don’t know where the hell we’re going, but…

Feel like burning rubber with me, gorgeous girl? I caught you biting your lip when I pulled up to your building in these blacked out, ultra expensive, custom-made wheels. I’m a mess, but I swear you’ll love me. I’ll take you on the ride of your life. You’re too smart and far too well-read for me to teach you much of anything, but if you will just get in this goddamn car, I’ll show you how to live fast and die right.

To be continued...

_* Chapter song "Shameless" by The Weeknd *_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet again, my "notes" would NEVER END, so I'll just zip it. I just want to hear your "notes", person-generous-enough-to-read-my-words. Readers comments are so important to me. Assuming said comments aren't something like "this is trash" (yikes), nothing means more to me than seeing someone was moved enough to let me know how this story affected them. Kudos are awesome too of course. I know a lot of people don't give them until they've finished a story though, and I understand. Just know that it DOES help with motivation to keep going when I know that someone likes what I'm doing in the process rather waiting until it's over. Pretty big deal. Thank you so much for reading and please subscribe/bookmark! See you in chapter 7! -Jen


	7. Live Fast, Die Right (Crashing Hard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For obvious reasons, the music I mention is not required listening, however, when Loki "hears" the song"Smoke" (clean) by PVRIS (no spoiler) it acts as catalyst for some content, so if you want to get the full moody impact from his POV, feel free to look it up. (FYI: it's completely safe for work, melodic, alt-rock with female vocals) Readers can of course simply imagine any tune they want, and the few significant lyrics are included in the scene, so searching for the actual song is OPTIONAL. You do you.

_**~7:16pm, June 7, 2019 (One Month after Sigyn’s appointment with her doctor)~** _

“I’m missing something,” Loki mumbled, chewing his lip as he dug through the neatly folded shirts in his bag for a ‘last hurrah’ weekend trip to his family’s summer home in Montauk with Sig, as well as Darcy _‘Dude-My-Eyes-Are-Up-Here!’_ Lewis and her _far_ superior other half James Barnes. But then again, JB was far superior to _most_ people, so...whatever.

After twenty frustrating seconds of ruining his perfect packing job, he figured it out- he’d forgotten his _pills_ , of all things. He’d picked the refills up from CVS last night, then he’d gone home, set them on the counter, walked to his bedroom to get his already packed bag from his closet, and then forgot to grab his meds on his way back out the door. Eyes closing, he shook his head.

_Face, allow me to introduce you to Palm._

Maybe Sig could get them on her way home from work. Just as he started to text her about it, his ringtone blared through the silent room. Nearly jumping out of his skin- _“Shit!”_ -he accidentally dropped his phone into his bag. He rolled his eyes and fished the damn thing out as it continued screaming at him. God- as though his nerves needed further rattling.

If this was his editor calling him, he might just throw himself out the window. Scratch that- if that woman pestered him one more time over the first draft of a manuscript that wasn’t due until _September_ , he would run four blocks to his parking garage, drive down to Harper Collins, double park if he had to, run up eight flights of stairs to her grotesquely decorated corner office, and throw _her_ out of a window. It would certainly get him out of this god awful publishing contract. Oh he could see it perfectly- sporting handcuffs and a Cheshire Cat smile, he would say a few final words to his attorney: “ _Call HC and tell them I’ve just been convicted of second degree murder, and I fear I’ll have to delay finishing book three for twenty years. Also, do these jumpsuits come in black? Orange is NOT my color.”_

“Please don’t be her, please, please, please,” he begged the cosmos, hesitantly peaking at the screen with one eye. At the sight of JB’s name and picture, his painfully tense shoulders relaxed, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, swiping his thumb over the screen and tapping the speaker icon.

“JB,” he answered, setting the phone on the bed and removing a shirt from his bag to fix the horrendous folding job. The creases weren’t straight, and it wasn’t a perfect square. He might screw up everything else in 2019, but he could at least fold a shirt properly, for hell’s sake.

_"Hey, Lo man. Um...so…listen...”_

Loki lifted his eyes from the shirt to glare at his phone. The end of that non-sentence would not be good. He should expect as much from this shit year.

_“Um, the clutch in my Jeep decided to be an absolute bitch overnight.”_

Grip tightening on the now expertly folded shirt in his hand, his narrow focus on the phone screen turned to a dead-eyed stare.

“Your Jeep- as in, our ride to Montauk -is out of commission,” he responded flatly.

_"I took it to the dealership, but they said there’s a shortage for Wrangler parts right now. They ordered the restock two days ago, and it oughta get there Monday. I called every mechanic in the city. Either they don’t have ‘em, or they’re being used for cars already there. Earliest it gets done is next Wednesday.”_

Loki looked down at the perfect creases on the shirt, then threw it at the wall with a growl. He heard JB sigh heavily.

_“I don’t wanna rain check ‘cause, I mean, obviously you won’t be back from the tour til August, but I don’t know what to do. You HATE rentals, especially anything last minute.”_

Rain check? Hell no, he _needed_ this trip because, as JB had said, this would be the last chance he had to do it before the Looking for Sunlight book tour. Eight weeks. He would be overseas for _EIGHT WEEKS_ , starting this Tuesday. HC had renegotiated with him, allowing him to delay the 15 April start date by two months because of Tony, and he’d lost track of time ever since. The endlessly dragging scatterbrained days were trapped inside months flying by faster than light.

If only Sig would come with him, then he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to _everything_ he loves. If only she didn’t insist on needing that job to make rent as well as keep her health insurance. Setting aside his blinding rage over the for profit American health “care” system, Sig did not _need_ her job.

_Bloody NOT true, I’ve got you, girl…_

Her schedule was brutal now. She was _still_ playing catch-up from the time lost in April. But the amount of work piling up on her desk and in her inbox was the least of her problems, in _his_ opinion. While venting her frustrations to him a few weeks ago, the words _“Mr. Tangelier is after me again...I thought that was over...it was supposed to be OVER”_ came out of her mouth. He asked her to elaborate, but all she said was “ _I’m not quitting my job, Loki.”_

Oh, he absolutely _lost_ it, launching straight into a hyper protective speech (see: mansplaining the danger of her situation to her as though _she_ didn’t already live and breathe it every damn day). Said speech rapidly devolved into a full blown fight:

_"T_ _his isn’t just some random jackass cat-calling you on the street, Sig!”_

_"Could you please NOT go all ‘shining knight boyfriend’ on me? I’m not a goddamn DAMSEL.”_

_"Two years ago, after six months of CONSTANT ogling and leering and blatant comments about your, quote, gravity-defying tits and ass, you filed a complaint with Human Resources, and what did they even DO?”_

_“You think I don’t know that the response ‘oh Ms. Frey, we take sexual harassment very seriously at TriBecArchitect &Design, so rest assured, we will launch an internal investigation immediately’ is corporate speak for ‘ignore this whore’?! Trust me, I KNOW.” _

_“For fuck’s sake, Sig, then why the hell-”_

_“Say what you will about my weak handling of it-”_

_“I did NOT say you were weak. I have NEVER said that. I have enough self hatred on my own without you projecting YOUR insecurities on-”_

_“I’m not projecting! Admit it, you think I’m weak for taking it on the chin like some pathetic-”_

_“How are you turning everything that Tangelier monster does into an accusation against ME?! I don’t think you are weak or pathetic AT ALL. You are the strongest person I know!”_

_“Oh so now you’re going to bait me with compliments?”_

_“OH MY GOD. Would you prefer I hurl insults?!”_

_“You know what? YEAH, I WOULD. If you really think I’m the strongest person you know, BLOODY PROVE IT, and stop pulling your goddamn punches!”_

_HELL NO-_ he absolutely _stormed_ out of her apartment that _second_. He was halfway down the second floor stairs when she caught up to him and jumped down onto the step below him, putting her hands on his chest to stop him from leaving. He might have continued bolting down the stairs if she hadn’t grabbed his belt buckle, pushed up onto the toes of those ankle boots that made her legs look miles long, and legitimately shoved her tongue into his mouth. Bloody hell- he dragged her back up those stairs so fast, he nearly yanked her shoulder out of its socket.

_I can’t believe I actually THREW her onto her bed._

Dragging his hand down his face, Loki groaned behind his hand. He was on the phone with JB, which was perhaps not the best time to relive pinning Sig beneath him and having very _not nice_ sex that she had responded _extremely well_ to. He blew out a breath and plucked his phone up from the bed. Opening his contact list, he scrolled through the names.

“We are _absolutely_ going to Montauk,” he said, stopping when he got to his brother’s name, “I just need to...um...call in a favor.”

_“That easy, huh? Alright, well, just shoot me a text to let me know when you magically pull a sedan outta your ass.”_

“I think asking Thor to loan me his M3 would be significantly less painful,” he quipped, texting his brother... _trying_ to text, that is. His thumbs felt downright paralyzed from the wretched _helpless_ feeling.

_“Is that gonna be big enough?”_

“That’s what she said,” he said, voice flat as he scowled at his screen. He deleted his insipid, whining, _begging_ message and started over.

_“Proud to say she never said that to ME, Lo man.”_

“No, she merely tweeted ‘big Brooklyn boy’ and called it a day,” Loki said, his grip tightening on his phone as JB laughed out loud on the other end of the call. For hell’s sake, the wording of his now _third_ message attempt was worse than the first one! Delete. Try again. He would send this one no matter how pathetic it sounded:

**_Loki: I need your M3 this weekend,_ _and before you bitch and_ **

**_moan about me asking at_ _the last minute, know that_ **

**_it is absolutely NOT my fault_ _that JB had to take his car to_ **

**_the shop THIS MORNING._ **

**_Thor: …_ **

Loki glared at the ellipses, just _knowing_ they wouldn’t be replaced with _‘sure thing, baby bro’_. The universe hated him too much to provide an easy button. Gritting his teeth, he sank down to sit on the edge of the bed and refocused on JB’s voice.

_“Was just questioning if an M3 was big enough for four adults plus Darcy’s ten goddamn suitcases.”_

“If she refuses to pack lightly for a measly three day trip, then we’ll just tie her to the roof...” he trailed off, distracted by the text that popped up on his screen:

**_Thor: Shocking that Buck’s_ _15 year old Jeep needs_ _work. 😂_ **

**_Those things fall_ _apart at the drop of a hat._ **

Squinting at the screen, Loki scoffed. He waited five minutes for his brother to say a simple yes or no, but _this_ is what that bland blond sends? Setting his elbow on his knee, he leaned his forehead into his palm, zoning out a bit as JB continued talking about...suitcases? Maybe it was trunk spaces? Seating places? Street races? Hard to tell when you fade as quickly as he was at the moment. The sound of a new message alert pulled him back to the real world, and he looked down at the screen:

**_Thor: Of course I’ll let you_ _borrow it, you little shit._ **

**_I’m already in the area_ _since I’m meeting Jane_ _for dinner_ **

**_up in the_ _village. I’ll just leave it_ _with you instead._ **

Slumping forward, feeling the tension (at least some of it) leave his shoulders, Loki rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Maybe the universe didn’t despise him after all. Why else would it be generous enough to throw him a bone once every 36 years?

“Well, JB,” he spoke over his surprisingly chatty friend, smiling wide, “I have successfully acquired my brother’s car to replace your beloved, broken Jeep.”

_“That was suspiciously easy.”_

“I know r-” he stopped abruptly when another text popped up on his screen:

**_Thor: I’m parked on the_ _corner of Prince and_ _West Broad_ **

**_in front of_ _the Coach store. Do_ _you want me to bring_ **

**_the key to you, or the_ _other way around?_ **

“Wow, that was fast,” Loki muttered, standing from the bed as he typed a response and grabbed his keys.

**_Loki: Stay there. I’ll_ _come to you._ **

“I need to go, JB,” he said, locking the front door behind him.

_“Okay, Lo man. See ya later.”_

“Will do. Bye.” He sent a message to Sigyn as he walked down the stairs:

**_Loki: This is is an inconvenient_ _request, I know, but would_ **

**_you swing by my place_ _on the walk back from_ _your office_ **

**_and grab_ _my Rx refills? They’re_ _in a bag on the kitchen_ _island._ **

**_I meant to grab_ _them last night. I’m_ _so sorry, sweetheart._ **

She responded just as he pushed through her building’s doors:

**_Sig: Sure thing, handsome. 🥰_ **

Turning left out of the building, he smiled down at the screen, deftly avoiding a kid on a skateboard zipping down the pavement straight toward him as he texted back:

**_Loki: You are amazing,_ _gorgeous girl. x_ **

He looked up, immediately spotting Thor leaning against a gleaming, 4-door, gunmetal grey BMW with blacked out tires. Nodding in _extreme_ approval, he crossed West Broadway.

“I’m impressed,” he said, flashing a smile as he came up to his older brother. “It’s a 2017, right?”

Thor nodded, giving him a quick hug. “Looks brand new, right? Just had it detailed yesterday.”

Opening the driver’s side door, Loki ducked into the car to have a look inside. “Nice leather,” he said, wrapping his right hand around the gear shift. “Ah, 6-speeds- the ultimate millennial anti-theft device.”

His brother tilted his blinding blond head, much like an adorably confused golden retriever, and Loki rolled his eyes. His clever ego just _loved_ having to _explain_ his jokes. Shaking his head, he pointed to the gearshift.

“Millennials don’t know how to drive a stick, therefore they can’t steal it,” he sighed, eyes blowing wide when Thor chuckled and gave him a pat on the back that was hard enough to knock him forward. Carefully leaning over the gearshift, which his knee had very nearly collided with thanks to his brother’s overzealous _pat on the back_ , he opened the glove box, squinting at the contents. “Tell me you have a tire pressure gauge somewhere in here.”

“It’s in the middle console.” Thor gestured to it with his chin. “The display will alert you if the tires are low. There’s an air compressor in the trunk too. Here, have a look under the hood.”

Loki stepped out, closing the door behind him, and circled the front. Several minutes of thorough interrogating his brother about every tiny aspect of his vehicle- _Carboy, indeed_ -he pushed the hood down again.

Thor raised his eyebrows, watching Loki walk around it one more time. “Verdict?”

“Absolutely love it,” he said, checking his watch. Sig would be home any minute now. He held out his hand, palm up. “Key?”

Backing away while mouthing _“love you, brother, drive safe”,_ Thor tossed the black and silver key fob to him. He caught it easily, waving to the man as he disappeared around the street corner, then pressed the BMW symbol in the middle of the key. It beeped twice, locking with an audible click as he hurried back across West Broadway again.

Inside her building once more, he took the stairs three at a time, making a beeline for her bedroom to sit in front of the window A/C as soon as he slammed her door behind him. Grabbing the back of his shirt, he dragged it over his head and crash-landed backwards on her bed, then blindly grabbed the four button fly of his jeans, and yanked it open. Something that sounded like a metal ring or coin bounced across the floor- _ping, ping, ping, ping -_ and his eyebrows shot to his hairline.

He lifted his head, immediately spotting a silver button glinting in the fading sunlight streaming through the window on the other side of the room. Lips pursing, he looked down at his jeans. Not only was the top button missing, but there was a ragged, inch long rip in the denim.

_Did I...did I just...TEAR my trousers open?_

He looked back and forth from the button on the floor and his jeans several more times, pressing his lips together as his shoulders started to shake. Then he burst into side-cramping laughter.

“What the fuck…” he cackled, letting his head fall back. Sig would be rolling on the floor and _sobbing_ if she’d seen that.

_You need to SPRINT around the block about five times to sweat out all the shame toxins from pulling a move straight out of gag-reflex-stimulating explicit Starboy fanfiction, LO._

_For god’s sake, don’t say GAG-REFLEX-STIMULATING._

Oh he was _dying._ It was just like that post JB tagged him in on Instagram.

Oh god. Oh, the horror. It had been a screenshot of one of those...uh...literary masterpieces, and JB only knew that _literature_ existed because Lewis had “stumbled” on it (sure, Lewis…sure). He couldn’t remember all of it (thank heaven), but he distinctly recalled seeing something about the “massive bulge” in his pants, followed by something like “Starboy looks angry enough to choke you, and your already overheated flesh gets even hotter.”

He loved JB, but that had been _cruel._ Stars above, his _mum_ could have seen it! Goodness knew his sister had, and even though she’d been kind enough to offer to lobotomize “Barnes”, it had made him want to dig a hole in the ground and jump in it. Thor had commented that “his bro” would kill JB, but that he would at least “die a hero” then he’d apparently _died_ from laughing.

Oh well. At least Loki could laugh at it now too, unlike the first time he saw it. Well, if his book inspired certain genres of the more explicit nature, have at it.

_Just don’t make me READ it._

The front door swung open then, and every amusing thought in his head came to an abrupt halt. He sat up like the mattress had burned his back, one hand going straight for the knife in his pocket. Entirely _unfounded_ knee jerk fear coursed through his veins for half a second, but as soon as his thumb touched the exposed metal clipped to the denim, the _somewhat_ more rational part of his brain shouted at him that this was just his girl getting home from work. Chest heaving, he flopped back onto the bed, eyes rolling at his _insane_ reaction. He exhaled slowly, pulling both hands down his face as Sigyn called out “ _it’s just me, love.”_

“I know it’s just you, sweetheart,” he said, probably not loud enough for her to hear him. _Sweetheart_ , indeed- she was being almost _too_ considerate. It might very well be further enabling this extra madness.

Sigyn tossed her keys on the glass table in her tiny kitchen, and she winced at the loud metal-on-glass clanking sound. Hopefully that hadn’t scared the hell out of him. Or the door. Or her _voice_ for that matter. Loki was visibly more on edge lately, and she was trying to avoid startling him as much as possible.

He was so on edge in fact, that he had now walked with her to and from work every day for two weeks (save for today), and he held onto her every step of the way. She loved the feel, both physically and emotionally, of his arm around her, but something about it seemed problematic… kind of?

Setting her hands flat on the table, she let her head fall forward and rolled her shoulders. She had walked to work every day all by her _big girl_ self for nearly a decade, no problem, but now she felt almost _addicted_ to having this tall, intimidating _man_ walking with her so he could, you know, protect her from all the things- or some shit like that. She didn’t think _he_ saw it that way, so she couldn’t direct her annoyance at him.

_Nope- I’m just frustrated with ME, that’s all._

If he draped his arm loosely around her neck, with his hand dangling down just over her collar bones, she would reach up to lace her fingers with his. She usually kept her free arm around his hip, nearly always under the hem of his shirt, and if that started to feel excessively hot, she switched to holding his hand because she couldn’t _possibly_ pull away from him completely. This was what she had become- a woman relying on the man she loved to feel like a _whole_ person. Her entire sense of self was all but gone.

_When did I become convinced that I am NOTHING without Loki Odinson?_

_No, you just can’t be EVERYTHING without him, and that is so very ‘problematic’ for you, isn’t it._

_Um… I can’t be everything WITH him either. I just… I just feel like I’m MORE with him._

_But hon, isn’t that what the ‘love of your life’ should be? The person who, more so than anyone else, gives you the lift you need, who holds your hand and holds you UP when walking through the worst parts of life?_

Leaning her head back, she reached up to rub an ache in her shoulder, wincing at the pain. So many knots, and so much anxiety, none of which ought to have anything to do with her boyfriend walking to work with her. She was making mountains out of molehills. Maybe she was just bothered by the fact that he’d only insisted on walking with her after she _accidentally_ mentioned the awful boss situation. He used to offer to go with her just to be with her, but this? This felt almost obsessively protective.

_And I LIKE it._

_Wait… what happened to the girl who pitches a fit when Loki goes all ‘shining knight boyfriend’ on her? Oh Sigyn, methinks the lady has been protesting too much._

She stopped rubbing her shoulders to rub her temples instead. Oh hell, If she couldn’t let go of this incessant need to prove she was the girl who could and _would_ slay her own goddamn dragons without anyone’s help… _EVER…_ she might just end up losing the best thing she ever had. Lips trembling, she put a hand over her mouth to muffle a pitiful choking sob and walked to her bathroom, treading softly so her sandals wouldn’t clack too loudly on the wood floor. She closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t hear her blow her nose dozens of times. If he heard her crying, he would come running to her too fast, make her feel too good and too loved and too protected from all the bad things, only to then up and leave her alone in their beloved NYC in three days.

_Is that what this is really about, hon? You WISH you could slay the dragons on your own because they might show up again when he isn’t here to help you?_

Discarding the tissue she’d just _destroyed_ , she grabbed another, destroyed that one too and tossed it in the small waste basket on the floor between the tub and the sink. She looked into the mirror, scowling at the hot mess staring back at her.

“Less attractive than a car wreck,” she mumbled, snatching another tissue from the box to clean up her eyeliner.

As she did so, she noticed a jet black hair tie on the vanity, and her eyes started watering again. Oh for- She closed her eyes because the running mascara and tears burned like hell.

“Getting weepy over a _hair tie_ simply because it belongs to Loki might be an all time low, Sigyn,” she scolded herself under her breath as she swiped up the damn thing to look at it more closely.

She twisted it, watching the color shift from shining black to deep blue in the incandescent haze of her small bathroom. It was thinner and softer and stretchier than her ties were, but it held its shape better.

“What is this, a Gucci hair elastic or something? Ridiculous...” she muttered, sniffing as she searched for a tiny logo somewhere.

Nope. No logo. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past him to have these things custom made. This explained his envy-inducing _non-existent_ hair breakage despite tying it back almost every day. How had she never noticed this before? She shrugged and put it on her wrist. Finders keepers.

Actually, she should get her hair off her neck. She probably would have felt ten degrees cooler on that walk home if she’d pulled it up into a ponytail like a _smart_ person.

“You will be okay while he’s gone,” she told herself quietly while twisting her newfound _luxurious_ elastic around her hair. “It’ll be shitty, and you’ll hate it, but you’ll make it work. Strongest person he knows, right?”

She went stock still then, wide-eyed with her fingers frozen in place, caught somewhere between the elastic and the hair she was trying to pull through it. Suddenly her weak little pep talk wasn’t helpful at all because...well...sometimes epiphanies hurt like a son of a bitch. And the one she was having right now felt like being hit by an eighteen-wheeler going 90 down the highway.

_Loki is my number one fan, my biggest cheerleader, my most effective serotonin-booster, yet I am just WAITING for this relationship to fall apart._

_Yeah… maybe try that whole “it’s called being PRESENT” philosophy that a certain someone lives by. Otherwise you’ll just keep living in the possible car wrecks of tomorrow, hon._

Dropping her hands from her hair, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before opening the bathroom door, and gingerly stepping into her small kitchen again. The wall on the other side of the living room blocked her view of half of her bed, but she could see that he was lying on it as she picked up the paper pharmacy bag with his unopened Rx refills from her table and walked to her bedroom. He was wearing a pair of perfect-fitting trousers and nothing else- _alright, someone ARREST this man -_ and looked dead asleep with his hands behind his head and legs hanging over the edge. Even though she wanted to wake him up for less than holy reasons, she set the refills on her nightstand quietly, then turned on her heel and started back toward her living room. Suddenly the room started spinning.

_Woah, spun around too fast...should have eaten more today...shouldn’t have run up the stairs...super hot outside...oh shit I am legit passing out-_

Hearing Sigyn stumble a bit while mumbling something about being dizzy, Loki opened his eyes just in time to see her sway so far backwards, there was no way she would possibly keep her balance. Eyes blowing wide, he automatically shot forward off the bed- “Sig, holy f…!” -barely managing to get one arm around her back and his other hand under her head before it collided with the edge of her desk.

Heart pounding, he looked all over her face. “My god, sweetheart, what even...”

He shouldn’t have asked her to go to his apartment. That was too much of a detour in this heat, and she had no doubt worked through lunch, which had probably consisted of _one_ measly little cup of plain yogurt from the mini-fridge at her office. His girl was probably dehydrated, probably needed salt, probably needed sugar, probably needed to go back in time and tell him to get his own goddamn prescription.

“I’ve got you,” he said, steadying his grip on her and pulling her slowly upright with him as she blinked lazily up at him.

_Oh he’s got me, alright- got me feeling drugged and dazed and stupidly lovesick._

Dear god, she could feel her hearts turning into eyes right now. No- eyes into hearts. Thinking straight was difficult right now. Maybe it was a combination of the stifling heat and low blood sugar making her knees weak.

_Nothing to do with the guy who just saved me from falling on my ass._

She didn’t want to admit the latter, but maybe it was time she stopped judging herself about this, and just let her mind and body dig the feel of his _really nice_ arms catching her without going on some mental soapbox rant about just saying no to toxic gender binary tropes or something.

_You do you, right?_

It was probably just some repressed nostalgia over the first time he let her see his off the charts protective side. That night he gave Sketch to her, after cracking a few jokes and watching her play with her new cat on her living room rug, he’d given her an intense look and said _“the silver lining on the blade in my pocket is getting to cut anyone who even THINKS of laying an unwanted finger on you.”_ She’d taken a moment to just stare back at him, unsure what to make of that phrasing, but eventually had replied, _“sounds like something a villain would say.”_ His responding grin, one that looked like the cat that got the cream, would have been enough on its own to turn her on, but then he’d spoken- _“as long as you’re in my origin story, Sigyn Frey, I’ll take it”_ -and she hadn’t been able to get on top of him fast enough.

She’d be giggling at the images in her head right now if she wasn’t so busy staring longingly at his perfect face, which would be _an ocean away_ in three days. He hadn’t removed his arm from her waist, or his hand from the back of her head, and his expression was so attentive and caring and...and...and? Shit- words failed.

“I think he’ll give me reminder butterflies forever, Mum,” she muttered, completely spaced out and unaware her lips were actually creating words as she floated backward onto her bed.

His eyebrows pulled together. “Say again?”

_I’ll give her...reminder...butterflies? What?_

_No telling- she’s acting delirious, LO. Just put her feet up, and get her some water and a banana or something._

Indeed, he should do those things, with one exception. No bananas. He could not watch her eat a banana. Absolutely not. Dammit- of _course_ he was now imagining her glossy, cherry red lips wrapping around something else. His jeans were conveniently already unbuttoned, right?

_You are a terrible person, LO._

Jaw clenching, he suppressed an eye roll. Apparently he was the one who needed some damn water. And a cold shower.

Sigyn knew she wasn’t _literally_ floating. He was simply lifting her just enough to set her down in the middle of her duvet. But she was floating nonetheless, and suddenly she was laughing a little from the almost opioid-like haze. Hm, if the recipe for this feeling was skipping lunch, walking for half an hour in 90 degree heat, and falling into Loki’s arms, she might just stupidly do it again. But suddenly the warmth of his arm underneath her back was gone, as was the hand that had been cradling the back of her neck, and it genuinely felt like having her favorite toy taken away.

Now she wouldn’t be able to hold him. Or hug him. Or cling to him like a koala bear clings to a tree. Or latch onto him, love-bug style. She felt his arm slip under her calves, and before she had a chance to get excited about it, he set her legs back down on top of two pillows that he’d stacked together. He gave her ankle a little squeeze, and she pushed up onto her elbows, glancing down at his thumb making circles around her ankle bone before lifting her eyes to his face. His downturned mouth started making words- _“you need water”_ or something like that -and then his hand disappeared.

So… that was it? He was leaving her here to float by herself? No actually, she wasn’t floating by herself. Now she was just sinking.

Unless… maybe he wanted to actually _do_ something with her after she drank some water? According to that deep crease between his eyebrows, and the hollows of his sucked in cheeks- probably not. She could see his mind gears twisting her ever so _dire_ dizzy damsel spell into some sort of indictment against him _‘making’_ her get his head meds, and now he was afraid she would break under him.

_Come on, love- I’m already broken about Tuesday, so what’s the difference?_

The _‘he’s about to hit the gas and crash into me’_ excited pulses in her tummy were in the middle of a tires-squealing u-turn, spinning out too far and crashing into a wretched _‘if he leaves for two seconds, he might never come back!’_ wall of anxiety instead. She knew it was melodramatic and irrational, but that damn book tour was screwing with her head on a level she had not been prepared to handle. God, she was about to beg him to give her one of his Xans.

He took _one_ step backward, and her body had one of those visceral _oh HELL no_ moments where it moves too fast for the mind to keep up. As though the pillows under her feet were monsters in her bed, she kicked at them wildly, growling “get OFF me!” as she bolted upright. She slung her legs over the edge and pushed off the edge, but just as her toes touched the floor, he lunged forward and ‘caught’ her again.

“For hell’s sake-” he gave her an exasperated look “-are you _trying_ to crack that pretty skull open? _Lie down.”_

Eyes on his, she shook her head emphatically. Dammit, did he really think that little stunt was just her falling off the bed? Uh noooo...the vertigo like sensation was gone. Come _on_ , she was merely trying to launch her body at him, and he _ought_ to be able to recognize the difference.

“Don’t leave please please please…” She winced at the sound of her voice. No doubt her desperate, pleading tone did nothing to convince him that she wasn’t delirious and struggling to stand on her own.

Eyes narrowed to slits, his jaw quirked. Alright, clearly this had nothing to do with him stepping out of the room for a moment to fetch a glass of water. This was about goddamn Europe.

_Say what you REALLY mean, woman!_

He was so tired of her accusatory, almost _manipulative_ actions. Did she _intend_ for her sad puppy eyes and bleeding heart voice to make him feel like a piece of shit for leaving her?

_If so- seriously, Sig, talk about a selfish bitch move._

As though he was _choosing_ to abandon her like some deadbeat boyfriend. As though he had one iota of control in his current clusterfuck of a schedule. As though that voice in his head wasn’t shouting _“you shouldn’t have signed that dotted line, YOU did this, this is YOUR FAULT!”_ on loop 24/7. As though he needed her to hate him as much as he already hated himself. For _thousands_ of reasons. She _knew_ all of those things weren’t true, but she pleaded and poked and prodded and pushed and prayed and picked fights nonetheless.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he exhaled slowly. “Sigyn Elena Frey, I swear to god…"

_I swear to god, I adore you, but you are making this so much WORSE._

“Don’t _full name_ me,” she said, slinging one arm around his neck. “Listen, I just…”

Tilting his head, he raised an eyebrow as her eyes danced all over his face. “You just...what?”

She slid her free hand up his arm and over his shoulder. “I just want to feel you inside me right now.”

His lower stomach tightened reflexively. Had he just said (in his head) that he was tired of her? Yes, he did say that, and her words did nothing to change that. He was still tired. He was _exhausted._

Exhausted from needing her like an addict needs that needle. Exhausted from loving someone enough to go through hellish withdrawal when the time came to wave goodbye at the airport. Exhausted from losing more and more of himself in her every time she said his name.

Moving her hand up into his hair, she leaned back, trying to pull him with her. “Loki... _please.”_

_Aaaaand there it was._

“Christ, sweetheart...” he groaned, practically falling on her, willing to do whatever she asked him to.

Why did she have to his name like it was sacred scripture? Like she believed every letter would save her soul from eternal damnation? She made it impossible for him to say no, to admit that maybe he had actually been slowly dragging her to hell with him since the day they met. It was impossible because the rush of blood was too damn good.

As his mouth dropped to hers, she rocketed straight back up to that floaty, starry-eyed feeling. The ever present music on the other side of her wall seemed so much louder suddenly. Either her neighbor had turned up the volume, or she could just hear the song more clearly now that the anxiety was no longer buzzing in her ears. Her eyes popped wide open at the sound.

_Is this...is this that "Smoke" song? The one by PVRIS? Oh my god, it is. This was the one Loki listened to when he was...oh no no no no no...._

Loki stopped kissing her, and she was unsurprised to see his eyes appear more than a little dark when he opened them. Not a hot kind of dark- a _spiraling_ kind of dark. He was checking out of this bedroom entirely, and it was all because of this one stupid song that her stupid neighbors had for some stupid reason turned up to stupid max volume.

“Don’t go disappearing up there into outer space without me,” she mumbled, more to herself than him as she reached up to push his hair behind his ears.

_Earth to Starboy…?_

His _brand_ name could not be more appropriate in these space cadet moments. Wherever he was going, she didn’t want him to go without her. Even if it was a dark place devoid of oxygen, she would go. She leaned up a bit, bumping his nose with hers, and that seemed to do the trick. She dropped her head onto her pillow again, relieved to see him snap out of it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, letting go of her hip to pinch the bridge of his nose. He _wanted_ to focus on his girl, but... _shit_. “I don’t want to listen to this song.”

Not with Sig. He could NOT listen to this one with his girl. He couldn’t stop his mind from running away with the hard-hitting lyrics- “ _This isn’t violence. This is just a war in my head. I give it time, but it never seems to end. I feel a fire in the back of my throat, so let’s get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke…”_

Stars- those goddamn words hit so close to home, it felt like getting punched in the gut. There _had_ to be internal bleeding.

“I _really_ don’t need to hear this,” he said, eyes pinched.

She opened her mouth to say “I know” to him, but closed it again when he let out a raspy, sad little laugh, almost like a cough, but not exactly. It sounded like someone had reached down his windpipe, dug around to find that little laugh deep in his chest, and was now dragging it up into his throat. If smoke had a voice, it would sound like that- like a laugh searing one’s vocal cords.

“I know what you’re thinking-” he shook his head “-a dark, guitar heavy, love-hate song called _Smoke_ should be right up starboy’s old ashtray-filled alley.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, not at all. I know your history with this one, love. You walked me through the details when it showed up on my recommended playlist several months back. You told me to turn it off, remember?”

Her boyfriend was being too meta right now. Not that she wasn’t following his meaning, but the path was so bleak and dark that he couldn’t see he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t see _her._

_Clearly I’m not living up to my SUNLIGHT reputation right now._

“Oh right,” he sighed, staring at the wall where the music was coming from. “Sorry. Fucking unbelievable. It’s so _obscure_ \- How do your evil neighbors even know this one? What- did they hire DiCaprio to incept my dreams in search of my Achilles heel to drive me out of their building? Did it show up on _their_ recommendations too?”

“Loki, it’s not th-”

“The universe is doing this shit on purpose,” he spoke over her, still glaring at the wall. “It’s such a goddamn good song, and I _ruined_ it by listening to it on repeat every day of 2015.”

Pressing her lips together, she blinked at him. If she tried to speak, her voice would crack horribly, and he didn’t need to hear her choke up over this. It would only make it worse. Yes, she knew about the significance of the song and the year. He started writing in 2015. More accurately, he’d been _driven_ to write after decades of pain finally culminated into that last gasp of air before what _would have been_ the end of all things otherwise. Every time she envisioned him working on his first novel, it made her _ache_. He even described the experience to her on their second date two years ago:

_“What does it feel like? Oh you mean literally how did I feel while writing Starboy? Like in the moment I’m sitting there putting metaphorical pen to paper?_

_God. How the hell do I describe it...um...well...it wasn’t fun, by any stretch of the word...wait...oh that’s the way to explain it. Words._

_Yes, with words obviously. That’s not what I...No, I mean...okay, stop laughing, gorgeous girl. You’re making me lose my train of thought. I made a connection there, so just give me a second- fuck, I lost it. Completely derailed, thanks. I think I can actually FEEL my IQ dropping. Your laugh is amazing by the way. OH- it’s back. Shh shh shush._

_Writing it felt like...hm...like I was dragging debris heavier than lead, piece by piece, letter by letter, out of this violent WORD tornado inside my head where they’d been trapped, spinning ever faster and faster, getting flung in all directions like bullets for decades._

_I can tell you the exact day, the exact hour I started that unenviable process. Sunday, June 7th, 2015...ugh, Manhattan was brutally hot that day._

_Were you in the area then? I mean did you live here in SoHo then? Yeah? How did you and I never cross paths until now? My god, Sigyn Frey, where the hell have you been hiding? I feel like I stumbled upon a treasure trove or… something… less… objectifying… I guess. Wow, that sounded awful._

_Oh, it’s fine? Sure sure, yeah yeah, it’s fine because I’m incredibly good-looking, insanely smart, and have a great car. I get it. Can’t find my damn words when you blush like that. Jesus._

_Okay, back to the original subject- I’d just gotten home from a NOT FUN AT ALL party at my ex’s place. I felt so sick, and not just from having ten too many shots. I felt legitimately ill, you know? As though I’d contracted some flu of shame…I know right? Just let me grab a four hour long shower followed by four days of sleep please._

_My laptop was on my kitchen island, and for whatever reason, my feet took me toward that instead of my bathroom, and then I was typing. I’m sitting there dragging those heavy words- the ones flying around like bullets, you know? -I’m dragging them behind me and setting them down onto a laptop miles from my head, hopefully out of the tornado’s path, otherwise… dammit… otherwise they’d just get picked up again and continue to batter my skull until it finally shattered._

_It was quite corporeal actually. Some of the shrapnel was pretty well embedded in the bone. Certainly not an effortless task. Quite a headache._

_Of course, there is a CHANCE those headaches had something to do with staring at a screen all day for nine months.”_

Honestly, she’d no doubt looked hopelessly in love when he said that. Surely she’d accidentally stepped onto a movie set because this stunner could not be a _real_ person. Lights, camera, action- Cue Sigyn Frey’s death scene in which she cries out _“I’m melting!”_ while sinking slowly off of her bar stool at The Dutch on Sullivan on Tuesday, January 3, 2017 at 9pm Eastern standard time as Loki Odinson talks to her about a word tornado in his tricky brain. If not for his exceptionally good mood that night (the _‘oh this is REALLY going somewhere!’_ kind of good) he might have put less of a humorous spin on it, but she would have melted all the same. She’d been so enamored with him that she actually called in sick to work the next morning just to spend the day absolutely _drowning_ in his written words for the first time.

Darce had recommended she read it the summer before that (when it was first released) but her recommendation had come with a warning- _“it’s not smutty, but it’s SMOKIN hot... oh you won’t get that brilliant pun if you don’t read it… but seriously Siggy, it’s a hot read, so make sure you crank the A/C, oh and you’ll definitely get all choked up, so keep tissues handy.”_ Sigyn’s response was “ _um...hard pass”_ because 2016 had been depressing enough on its own without crying over a stupid book. But as New Years are prone to do, 2016 turned into 2017, and when she literally collided with Loki, she tossed her _‘avoid potentially sad things at all costs’_ philosophy into the trash where it clearly belonged with every man who was not _this one._ His novel was no longer just some _hot_ read- it was a _MUST_ read.

She could have downloaded the ebook for ten bucks, but oh no no no, that wouldn’t have been good enough. Instead, on the morning of January 4th 2017, she’d marched straight to the Prince Street station to catch the R-train up to Strand Bookstore in the East Village and bought the $47 _gorgeous_ hardback. The “don’t judge a book by its cover” saying clearly applied only to _ugly_ books who needed a chance to showcase their inner beauty, otherwise she might have felt at least _somewhat_ bad for sizing up that Starboy cover and saying _“take.my.money!”_ in 3.5 seconds. Now, what she _had_ felt bad about was actually drawing a heart around the author’s face on the back cover when she got home. 29-year-olds should _not_ do that. That said, if one was to accidentally regress to doodling _‘SF + LO FOREVER’_ on her grown up Trapper Keeper, hide the goddamn evidence!

She’d hid it _so well_ …for a month. The sheer mortification she’d felt the night he discovered it at her place on 09 February 2017 (exact date burned into her brain because it was _that_ embarrassing) remained unparalleled. While engaging in half naked fun with her new _perfect_ boyfriend on her couch, he’d complained that something pointy was stabbing his hip, and she had been too tipsy to know he wasn’t making a sex joke until he dug her book out from where it had gotten stuck between the cushions. Talk about sobering up _fast._ She’d instantly snatched it from his hands before he could finish saying _“ooooh the deluxe version… wait… what did you do to my pic-”_

From there, she’d done the most rational thing possible. Like something from a ‘parkour gone wrong!’ blooper reel, she’d jumped over the back of her couch, nearly popping out of her bra in the process, and from there she had darted toward her open bathroom door, thrown the book inside, and slammed the door. When she’d turned back around to look at him, he’d pointed an accusatory finger at her- _“Either you panicked because I saw that heart you clearly drew around my face, or that was just an exceptionally shitty review.”_ While she’d crumpled to the ground in a laughing fit, he’d left to grab a sharpie from her desk, then came back and stepped over her to retrieve his book. After signing the back cover, he’d handed it to her with a wink. Along with his signature, he’d written five other words: _I love you too, sweetheart._

Of _course_ Loki first dropped the L-word by _writing_ it on her book. Two and a half years later, she could still actually _touch_ the first time he said it. All she had to do was pick up that book- the one that was now underneath her copy of Looking for Sunlight on her desk.

Those words _“I love you too”_ were still with her. More importantly, _he_ was still with her, still lying on her bed with his face hovering over hers, right where he belonged. Honestly, if she could draw a heart around his _actual_ face right now, she would. She leaned up to kiss him, but just as her lips touched his, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and groaned. Glaring up at the ceiling, she set her jaw, giving serious thought to going next door and telling them to turn down that music.

He groaned again into her shoulder. Bloody hell, he couldn’t handle hearing this singer belting _these_ words right now- _“You’re just a ghost of blissful feelings, a cloud of smoke that I keep breathing. An illusion, I’m losing you to the games in my mind.”_

_Oh my god, make it stop!_

This was not a _SIG_ song, but with her underneath him and kissing him and clinging to him right now, his goddamn head was twisting and contorting every strumming forward guitar chord, every perfect soaring crescendo, every not so gentle pounding drum into an association with the love of his life. No no _NO._ This gorgeous siren song licked his wounds from a _prior_ life better than he ever could, and he should _not_ listen to it around her. He had no issues with blaring it at his place… _alone._

_But not with Sig. Not with my girl._

It brought back every forked tongue promise and snide warning hissed at him by a wretched _thing_ disguised as a beautiful woman who weaponized words and sex, using them to bruise and batter him until he was nothing more than carbon particles floating next to each other in the shape of a corpse that looked like someone who used to be Loki Odinson. A thousand times he swore he wasn’t going back for more, but soulless carbon tends to lack the necessary mental and physical wherewithal, the necessary _heart,_ to fight against even the weakest gravity- to lift it’s heavy legs and _RUN._ His carbon believed her lies, let her scare the fire out of him, let her steal the energy out of an already dying star.

But at the tail end of 2015, when he was treading water, barely breathing, exhausted, ready to end more than _just_ a toxic relationship, something changed. Despite his leg-shaped carbon particles being _DONE,_ his hands formed minds of their own, and suddenly his fingers were plucking at his MacBook keys like a songwriter at a piano. He’d had no idea where the hell those first words on the screen- _“Heavy is the head, Prince Lo, so good luck trying to keep it above that freezing, choppy open water without me”_ \- would take him. For all he knew at the time, he could have been chasing a bad idea down a rabbit hole and landed himself in a nightmare wonderland, but when he read it out loud, alone in his kitchen, after that first day of writing, he decided the word chase was worth it at all costs. Nine months later a book called Starboy appeared on bookshelves the world over, so...

_At least something of value came out of my leftover ashes._

_Definitely more valuable than the original thing that burned to the ground._

_Silver linings._

Who knew, maybe he wouldn’t have found Sig if not for each nightmarish moment leading up to New Years Day 2017. Again- silver linings, right? He lifted his head from her shoulder and smiled a little, looking all over her face, unsure which gorgeous part to focus on. She _ought_ to be annoyed with his rapidly shifting emotions every two seconds right now, but he only saw pain in her eyes- pain _for him._

_Dating me must be hell._

He was _always_ a car crash waiting to happen, driving far too fast, falling far too hard, loving far too soon, leaving far too early or far too late, and doing all of it far too often for his own good.

_WHY did this song have to show up and ruin one of these last moments with my girl? I WAS FINE._

_LO, you’re giving too much power to it. Let. It. Go._

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her mouth against his ear as she said _“I love you to the stars and back”_ like they were her actual _dying_ words. Jesus- now his chest felt like it was about to explode into millions of pieces of gold New Year’s confetti, and the song was nothing but a dull white noise roar. She leaned back a bit to kiss his cheek, but just as her slightly parted lips made feather light contact with his skin, he turned his head and barely pressed the tip of his tongue into her open mouth. He pulled away for a split second, and she muttered his name. Boom- there it was...chest confetti _everywhere._ Without hesitation, as though he had only a few seconds left on the planet with her, he forced one hand between the pillow and her neck, grabbed her hair, and dropped his mouth to hers.

Her voice was useless with his mouth on hers, but stars above, in her head she was crying his name over and over. She was still fully clothed, yet her toes were already curling. Not exactly shocking since Loki was basically the god of _perfect_ kissing. That, and he was also taking full advantage of her barely legal cutoff shorts by forcing his hand underneath the frayed denim hem.

“Oh fuck me,” she hissed...or maybe moaned...somehow the words escaped when he stopped to catch his breath.

He smirked a little, said _“I’m getting there”_ in that same rasping, smoke incarnate voice, then covered her mouth with his again. Uh, she certainly _hoped_ so. She hoped he wouldn’t flip a switch and pull away again, which was a very real possibility. For heaven’s sake, a few seconds ago he looked like he might push off of her and pour shot after shot until he drank himself to sleep. Now he was acting like he would die if he put an inch between them. He switched gears faster than his car could while flying down the highway upstate. _Gut-wrenching-low_ could accelerate up to _cloud-nine-high_ in 3.5 seconds. Her boyfriend really knew how to give her whiplash.

_Yeah...whiplash is really REALLY bad for you, hon- it might very well break your neck one day._

Oh but she loved it. She couldn’t get enough of it. She couldn’t get enough of _him_. She couldn’t get enough of his pedal-to-the-metal mad love.

_Please don’t ever slow down, Loki._

Eyes rolling back, she moaned against his mouth, kissing him harder as he pulled her hair harder, and just like those old school slide projectors, the last few words of Starboy flashed across the back of her closed eyelids.

_Live fast, die right._

_Live fast, die right._

_Live fast, die right._

She must have read them a thousand times, and now it was seared into her mind. It was probably seared into a hundred thousand minds across the globe, many of whom would probably kill to burn rubber with him. But they didn’t get to. _She_ did. Right here, right now, he was showing her how to live fast and die right.

Breathing a little too hard, Loki leaned his forehead down against hers to calm his chest a bit. God- this perfect star girl made everything else fade to nothing, to white noise, to the light humming of an oscillating fan in a bedroom on a stifling hot summer night. Who cared if they got on the road a bit late because he needed a few extra minutes, or hours, to feel every inch of her? Who cared if he had to drive all night because of it? He only cared that his girl was here in this room with him, and he only had three days left with her.

He felt more than heard her whisper _“I cannot let you go”_ next to his ear, then she pressed her heel into the small of his back, and hooked her other ankle around his thigh. His mouth fell open, breathing even harder when she reached up to run her thumb along his bottom lip. The air in this room was too thick, too heavy, too charged with static electricity shocking his pulse into high gear as she slid her other hand underneath the back of his jeans, reaching as far as she could. If he wasn’t already sweating, he would be now. She was drawing him to her like a magnet, and he was suffocating for it.

_She pulls me in too close- I am in a stranglehold._

_Oh but some things are worth drowning for, LO._

Eyes closing, he kissed her again, ignoring her _“I cannot let you go”_ words. He didn’t want to think about Europe any more than he wanted to actually _go_ there.

_Oh my god, I will...I will...I will spiral without my girl. I can’t do this._

_You have to, LO._

Fine. He would just get as high off of her as possible while he had the chance. Bad trip or not, he was going to chase her to wonderland.

_This Helen of Troy, this destructive siren, this little white rabbit..._

_Live fast._

_Die right._

Kissing her like it was his last day on Earth, he heard his voice, muffled by the sound of the blood rushing through his ears, saying she was killing him, then out of nowhere, what sounded like a _dozen_ tires outside screeched across the pavement like nails on a chalkboard. It was followed by a formidable crash of metal on metal and shattered glass hitting the ground with a series of ear-piercing shrieks.

Wincing at the horrific sound, Loki and Sigyn untwisted their limbs from each other and shot straight up, jumping off her bed simultaneously to look out the window. Both gaped at the scene below.

Barely a block from her building, four cars were crunched together in the intersection of Prince and Thompson, and jagged pieces of glass were scattered _everywhere_ . Joe from the juice shop below her place, along with several other people from businesses up and down the block were running to the collision. A few people on the sidewalk looked like they’d been hit by the glass, cuts bleeding. One man was _in the crosswalk,_ lying face down, his left leg and arm bent at unnatural angles.

“OH MY GOD!” they both shouted at once, and Loki grabbed his shirt and bolted out her door, buttoning his fly on the way. He tugged his shirt down over his head, running down the stairs three steps at a time.

Taking off after him despite feeling like she might fall to the ground- _I don’t care!_ -any second, Sigyn snatched up her keys and phone from her kitchen table and slammed her door behind her.

Loki vaguely heard her calling 911 behind him as he shoved through her building’s double doors. The glass that had blown in all directions glinted in the western sun as he ran toward the crash. His feet would be absolutely _shredded_ if he’d kicked off his Nikes upstairs. Wait...Sig was only in sandals. Might as well be _barefoot_ for all the protection those would provide.

_Yeah, she also nearly blacked out upstairs, and you did NOTHING to help her, LO._

Oh shit- he skidded to a stop and turned on his heel to look for her. She was standing on the sidewalk with her hand over her mouth and her phone to her ear. Even twenty feet away, he could see her shaking.

Heart pounding, he shouted _, “SIG!”_

She looked up, locking eyes with him instantly, and he pointed to her feet. “Stay right there!”

In other words...

_Oh my god, I adore you, gorgeous girl. Please don’t do ANYTHING that might hurt you._

_So much for living fast, huh, LO?_

Looking down at the pavement all around her feet, Sigyn carefully stepped back to the entrance of her building. Oh god, he was right. The glass hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d only stopped here rather than run after him because someone had cut her off on the sidewalk. Shit- the bare side of her left foot was only half an inch from several pieces of sharp glass sticking straight up like exposed nails. Putting her hand over her forehead, she looked up at Loki again and nodded. She felt like she might throw up any moment anyhow. It was best she just sit down on the steps right here, and not do anything but be a useless piece of nothing while her hero of a boyfriend dashed off to be something that people gave a damn about.

Satisfied that his girl understood him and wouldn’t come running into this disaster, Loki growled quietly and ran to the crash. Multiple sirens were blaring, getting closer and closer, louder and louder. The EMTs would be here any minute, thank god. He wasn’t about to move anyone involved in the crash- that’s not why he came charging out here. No, he ran over here because he saw a woman reaching inside a broken car window, and had her hand on a _kid_ who appeared to be unconscious along with blood dripping down his small cheek in one of the backseats.

“No no no no no _NO_ , don’t touch him,” he raised his voice at the woman just as she started to tug the boy toward the window. She yanked her hand away immediately as Loki bent down into a deep squat next to her and peered inside.

“He’s my _nephew,_ and I was the one _driving!_ Oh god this is all my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, _”_ she sobbed, and he set his hand on her shoulder.

“I truly understand, but if his spine is injured, moving him could hurt him further. You _must_ wait for the paramedics, alright? They’ll be here any moment.”

She continued sobbing into her hands and dropped her head to his shoulder. His insides were a _mess,_ fear and anxiety sending waves of nausea over him.

_Shit shit shit shit shit, please let this kid be okay please please._

The woman was panicking. He could hear it in her cries. Her breaths were coming in too shallow and _far_ too fast. She was going to hyperventilate. He couldn’t do anything about the boy in the car, but here in this _awful_ moment, he wasn’t useless. He could help this woman.

“What’s your name?” he asked, gently shaking her to get her attention. “Can you tell me your name? My name is…”

_Bar-boy._

_Car-boy._

_Watch-Out-He’ll-Break-Your-Heart-Boy._

_Put-Another-Dollar-in-the-Jar-Boy._

_Forever-Trying-Too-Hard-Boy._

_Won’t-Go-Very-Far-Boy._

_DYING-STAR-BOY._

“...Loki. My name is Loki.”

She didn’t tell him her name, just continued sobbing and shaking and choking. He breathed harder and faster, a distinct light-headed feeling forcing his eyes to close for a second. Rolling his shoulders back once, he leaned his head down and slowly breathed out his nose.

“Okay, you and me,” he said, pulling his hand down his face. “Right here. We’re going to put every bit of focus into _not_ hyperventilating. We’re going to breathe. You’re going to do this with me. Turn off every sound other than your own inhaling and exhaling. Can you lift your head to look at me?”

After a few seconds, she did look up- _thank heaven_ -her eyes moving all over his face.

“Right here,” he said, pointing to his eyes, “just look right here. Nowhere else. Focus.”

The panic in her eyes was most definitely still there, but it was fading bit by tiny bit.

_You can help her, LO. Don’t let this wonderful, beautiful soul down. Be that ONE person for this woman who YOU needed a thousand times but didn’t have._

“Well done.” He nodded, then took her hand and placed it flat on his chest. “When my chest rises, make yours do the same. When it falls, _same._ Eyes on mine,” he added when she looked down at her hand. She returned her eyes to his immediately. “Good. You’re going to inhale and exhale through your _nose,_ not your mouth.”

Blinking rapidly, she nodded, clearly trying to gain control of herself. He held her wrist, keeping her hand in place against his chest, silently begging the universe to spare this woman from debilitating trauma all thanks to those _five seconds_ it took to cause this terrifying car wreck. Hell on earth was really hell in one’s mind, wasn’t it. A few hellish seconds had the power to steal _decades_ from a person. Oh god, watching her face was like reading the first few paragraphs of Looking for Sunlight:

_***I should have cancelled this appointment. I should have cancelled the last TEN appointments actually. I drank my body weight in vodka last night, and threw up every ounce of it an hour ago, and now I am staring dead-eyed, red-eyed, underfed-eyed at a doctor who gets paid three hundred an hour to ask how this or that makes me feel._

_What exactly is the point of talking about any of this? I’m just rehashing shit she’s heard a thousand times. I relive those ten seconds over and over in my head, and TALKING about it for nearly two decades hasn’t changed a goddamn thing. I’m living under neverending grey, low-lying, claustrophobic clouds of unparalleled regrets. No, not clouds- not plural. It’s just one gigantic fucking cloud, and it won’t stop screaming “if only you hadn’t, if only you HAD, you should have done, you SHOULDN’T have done, it was all YOUR FAULT, you DESERVED it!” I’ve become a broken record with vinyl skin that OF COURSE scratched on the WORST part of the song.***_

  
  


Loki grit his teeth, telling his writer brain to _BACK OFF_ so he could give _all_ his attention to this woman. He squeezed her wrist more tightly. She was struggling to do this with him, struggling to focus on the sound of her own breathing. There were too many other monstrous sounds- shouting, sirens, crying, shoes on the pavement kicking up glass. Still counting silently, he leaned a touch closer to her.

“Listen to that oxygen, _only_ that,” he spoke firmly, “everything else is white noise. It’s nothing. _This-”_ he pointed to his nose as he inhaled “-is the only thing that matters _at this second.”_

_It’s called being present._

_And presently, I am going to help this woman._

She nodded again, her eyebrows pulling together like a fighter who’d taken hit after hit on the ropes and was now _finally_ punching back. Keeping her crying eyes on his, she matched the rise and fall of his chest. Within a minute, she wasn’t shaking anymore. Another 30 seconds, the lines in her face relaxed. He held her hand steady, still locked in a staring contest with her.

“I’m going to look at my watch, but you keep your eyes on mine,” he directed her, and she obeyed his gentle command as he barely lowered his eyes, just enough to see the second hand ticking around the dark blue face of his watch without hindering her ability to see the green of his irises.

Thumb on her wrist, he counted her pulse. 66- YES. It had been _105_ at the start.

_You know what you just did, LO?_

He shrugged, responding to the question as though the voice in his head could see him. What did he do? Keep someone from passing out on the street? Not exactly brain surgery.

_Nonetheless, LO...you did something of value._

Salty tears filled his eyes like legit _acid._ Head shaking, he exhaled slowly through his mouth, trying to blink away the vicious burning. At that second the paramedics came running up behind his back, and he immediately moved out of their way without being told to do so. Letting go of her wrist, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and stood up once more, stepping away because her nephew was being pulled from the vehicle, and it was too intimate and private to stay and watch. This was no longer his place.

Down the street, in front of her building, Sigyn watched Loki step away from the woman he’d been...helping?...presumably? She watched him look around, his jaw clenched and clearly glaring at all these _intrusive_ people recording this real life horror film on their greedy, instantly gratifying goddamn phones. Son of a _bitch-_ she _HATED_ them right now. Yes, there were brutal occurrences that _ought_ to be recorded of _course_ for the sake of spreading awareness, of inspiring social progress, but not _this_ . They were taking Loki away from her through a digital sphere, and it was the worst thing ever. They didn’t deserve him. They had no business being on the same _planet_ as him. This was _not_ an overreaction on her part-

_I have every right to be this protective, this ready to cut anyone who goes anywhere near the love of my life._

Even from this distance, she somehow managed to hear the woman’s quiet voice saying _“My name is Ana”_ over everything else that should have been so much _louder_ than her. SIgyn put her hand over her mouth, swallowing the lump in her throat when she saw Ana put both hands over her chest and mouth very clearly _"thank you, Loki”_ to him.

“Oh my god,” Sigyn whispered behind her palm, trying not to absolutely _sob_ right here on the steps of her building.

She watched him produce something that looked vaguely like a weak grin for the woman, then he nodded and turned away, starting to come back to her. Had she ever missed him this much? This was absolutely absurd. She would run straight to him if her legs didn’t feel like lead.

No...

Actually she just wanted to disappear. She didn’t want to see him at _all_ . He was everything to _everyone,_ and she was _nothing._

_I don’t belong anywhere near Loki Odinson._

Pushing to her feet, she hurried back inside. Yes, she still felt sick, and no, she wasn’t entirely sure that she would be able to climb three flights of stairs on her own, but _goddammit_ , she would give it her all. Hell yes Loki absolutely _was_ a prince (even though he hated being called one) but heaven help her, she was not the princess, not the _sunlight_ he was looking for. Not even close.

Heart plummeting into his stomach, Loki watched her disappear into her building as the calm, encouraging voices of the _actual_ heroes behind him who had arrived in fire trucks and ambulances- _“hi there, bud, can you tell us your name?” “your Aunt Ana is right here, okay?” “we got ya, pal.”_ He picked up his pace, running toward those doors, chest heaving and head reeling from the summer Manhattan heat.

_Sig, where the hell are you going, love?_

_Run faster, LO._

Yet another dollar in that jar- he needed to get out of the middle of Prince Street. This was actually one of his worst nightmares.

_The love of my life runs away from me, and I am left alone in a crowded street feeling like I shouldn’t be alive to see the aftermath._

He barged through the doors of her building, running up the stairs after her.

“Sig!” he yelled, catching up to her in a blink of an eye.

He grabbed her arm, and pulled her down a few steps into him without a thought. He nearly fell backwards down the stairs, but he didn’t care. He was just so unbelievably grateful to see those iridescent eyes he would love forever looking at him. Her cheeks were wet and pink as she looked up at him.

“Come here, gorgeous girl,” he said, his voice straining as he grabbed her waist, and lifted her straight up off the ground and into his arms.

She wound her legs around his waist, and he walked up the stairs, whispering “ _my god, I love you to the fucking stars and back”_ against her cheek.

  
To be continued...

_*Chapter song "Stay Gold" by PVRIS *_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That screenshot from JB's insta is my ridiculous original digital art, and I HOPE no one thinks I'm hating on fanfic writers (oh my word, I AM ONE!), so please take it in stride. This is obviously from Loki's perspective of "oh my god, I do NOT need to see this nsfw stuff about me", which I find to be funny, in a sort of self-deprecating way.  
> Music referenced in chapter 4: Loki's ringtone "Real Life" by The Weeknd. "Smoke" by PVRIS started playing in Sig's apartment and ruined everything.  
> The “why the LONG AF wait for this chapter” details: Aaaaaand...I changed my mind- I'll keep them to myself. When I first posted this chapter a month ago, I gave a LONG "this is why I took so long to update" spiel right here in this notes section. I overshared, and regret it. (and clearly deleted it). If you were one of the unlucky ones who happened to read this chapter prior to 12 Oct 2020, allow me to offer my deepest apologies. It's probably just covid-weary-madness setting in.  
> Guys, honestly- readers comments are SO important to me. Assuming said comments aren't something like "this is trash" (yikes), nothing means more to me than seeing someone was moved enough to let me know how this story affected them. Kudos are awesome too of course. I know a lot of people don't give them until they've finished a story though, and I understand. Just know that it DOES help with motivation to keep going when I know that someone likes what I'm doing in the process rather waiting until it's over. Pretty big deal. So, if you're willing, please hit that kudos button if you love New Year, Same Habit. Thank you so much for reading, folks. 
> 
> MUCH LOVE, AND I'LL SEE YOU IN CHAPTER 8! <3 -Jen


	8. It's Called "Being Present" (Hit the Gas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy it's the ACTUAL updated chapter! *double high fives the people who care* ;-)  
> I hope everyone was able to follow all my "this used to be chapter 4 but NOW it's chapter 8" notes in the previous chapters.

(one extra note: if you would prefer to read chapter 8 with all the full embeds and original art specifically created for New Year, none of which I can provide on ao3, you are welcome to read it on my official website [Frigid, Fallen, Fearless](http://frigidimmortals.com/new-year-same-habit-chapters-1-8/)instead. I adore ao3, but there are limits to how "attractive" I am able to make my work as it is displayed on the page, so, I am just giving another option for readers.)

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

**~ Present day… 12:29am, January 1, 2020 ~**

“I'll rephrase," Loki said, coming to the edge of the bed and leaning down to Sigyn’s eye level, "I do not want to keep living if I have to do so without you."

Her watery eyes, only visible from the fireworks flashing, blew wide open, and her hold on the underside of her shaking legs that she’d pulled to her chest a few moments earlier loosened. She placed her hands flat on the bed behind her instead, her painted dark red nails digging into the blanket. The movement pulled his attention away from her eyes and mouth down to her inner thighs. Jaw clenching, he breathed harder. If only she would turn directly toward the window, then that short skirt wouldn’t be casting a shadow over the place he _ached_ to be. His eyes traveled up and down her legs again.

Wait... she hadn’t removed those Louis V’s? Oh, he could see it perfectly. Getting on his knees, yanking her backside to the edge of the bed, pushing her thighs apart, those fucking gorgeous stilettos digging into the mattress as he leaned forward and slowly slid his tongue up and down...

_God almighty-_ Truly, there was no blood left in his head. 

She said something, but it was impossibly quiet then. He _thought_ he heard “ _oh fuck me, Loki_.”

_Think you imagined that, LO._

_No, I was watching her lips. She definitely said that._

_How very convenient for you, eh?_

He set his hands on her knees, and she looked down at them momentarily, watching his thumbs make circles on her skin. Stars above, she _needed_ to feel those hands slide down between her legs. Lifting her eyes to his again, she let him push her knees further apart, and he did exactly what she wanted, smoothing his hands up her inner thighs. He stopped about an inch short of the place that _should have been_ his final destination, and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to scream “ _oh my god, Loki, KEEP GOING”_ right in his perfect face. 

He leaned in to kiss her, sparing her from having to fight any longer, and she sat up a bit to get closer to him as his lips pressed lightly- _too lightly_ -against hers. She angled her head to the right, opening her mouth, hoping he would do the same and add some damn heat to this kiss, but he only barely parted his lips, and his tongue was _completely_ MIA. This was...this was not enough. For the _love_ , she wanted him to kiss her harder than he had in front of her door. He was being far too careful with her, which to be fair, made perfect sense considering her hesitant behavior five minutes ago. Still- could he not see that she was absolute putty in his hands _now?_ Not _literal_ putty, but close enough. Come now, she took gymnastics for a decade, and muscle memory was no joke. Her flexibility was a point of pride, and she was more than a little desperate for him to twist her like a damn pretzel. Maybe he just needed to hear her _say_ it.

“Loki, I’m okay,” she whispered against his (unfortunately) _closed_ mouth, running her thumbs along his cheekbones.

_Bend me however you want-_

His lips stayed so... _static_...when she moved to kiss him again, and if she didn’t know better, she might think his entire purpose in showing up here tonight was to dangle himself in front of her like a goddamn carrot.

“I swear I won’t break,” she whined softly, grasping at his shoulders, then his neck, his arms, his belt...all of which felt more like grasping at _straws_. 

_Please, please, please, please, please..._

She wasn’t above saying it- above _begging_ him to drive his hips into hers like a fucking god (pun intended!) just like he used to. Arching up into him, she whined his name, and as though this “god” was answering her silent prayer, he groaned and _finally_ kissed her back properly. There was nothing _static_ about him now. Potential energy turned kinetic.

_Way to remember SOMETHING from science class, girlie._

Twenty blissful seconds later, he downright _stole_ his mouth away from her and gave her a dark look that could be considered somewhat...scary...in another context. 

“I’m not afraid of breaking _you,_ sweetheart,” he said, his fingers digging into her hip and curling into her hair.

God, if the thrilled knots in her stomach tightened any further, she might throw up, which would make her _vastly_ more appealing to him. His hands felt like heaven, and he was hardly doing anything. The simple fact that these were _his_ hands, and they were on _her_ was all the effort required to make her thighs shake. The heat in his eyes probably had something to do with that. That, and his voice was filled with more smoke than the ongoing fireworks show in midtown.

_A firework show that will be over any moment now...right, hon?_

Everything other than her heart froze in time as the thought flitted across her mind. Suddenly she was spinning, and it wasn’t a giddy, fun, excited spin. It was like being stuck in a giant tornado with the words from Loki’s soon to be published third book, which she’d read at her office the day his editor handed the manuscript off to Val to return to him last September.

Rather than give it to him in person, Val had given it to Carol so that she could just drop it off with Sigyn at work. That would save Val a trip to Loki’s place or some other meeting point during already overpacked schedules. He hadn’t explicitly said “do _not_ read this yet” to her, so she’d delved right into the pages during lunch that day.

She hadn’t known what to expect, other than knowing it would be a hard-hitting bestseller no matter what. After all, his editor had already given it a five star review in an email the day before, and she’d caught snippets of it on his laptop screen over his shoulder periodically throughout the year, which though out of context, were _pretty_ as hell from the looks of it.

Thinking back on it now, something in her gut had already been gnawing at her when she turned that first page, telling her to pull her hopes for some swoon worthy _Sunlight_ repeat back down to the ground. He’d been so secretive about his third novel, and that should have been an indicator. 2019 hadn’t exactly been kind to them. Stress levels had been climbing consistently from the start of it. Nonstop work, endless grind, Tony dying, sleepless nights, depressed moods, car crashes, fighting and fucking and fighting again, excessive alcohol, Atlantic-sized barriers between them, sexual harassment _and_ assault…

_For BOTH of us._

From the first paragraph, even if the author’s name had been removed from the title page, she would have known it was _his_ writing. Just like his first two books, the third had that same moody stream of consciousness, _overly-self-aware-and-knows-it_ energy about it. It was Loki-typical dreamy, and the lit crits would eat it up...again. One of them once called him a “raw, unaffected writer” in a review, and they wouldn’t take it back after reading his new work. If only he’d been a little _less_ raw, maybe _she_ would have read it through to the end. She’d shut it down at page 27 because…

_That’s when the firework show ended._

Oh god, she didn’t want to think about it- the words on that page or the day itself. She wanted to snap her fingers and watch September 30th, 2019 disappear in a puff of smoke from her memories. She slammed her eyes shut, wishing that day into oblivion. If only the back of her eyelids weren’t absolutely _covered_ with Loki’s page 27-word graffiti:

_*** One pill, two weeks. That’s all it takes to save her life, not that she knows this consciously. The lack of deadened circles under her eyes are proof enough as they lift to look at mine, staring at me over the lucky paper coffee cup kissing her mouth._

_“You’re staring,” she says, hiding a smile behind that cup. Happiness radiates from her sun kissed cheeks._

_"And YOU’RE assuming,” I counter, pointing to the aviators hiding my eyes._

_My mouth is a thin line, an unwavering mask of stoicism, unaffected by the fireworks in my chest. The glass windows reflect the sun onto the concrete beneath us, heating the city air around us. I squint behind those obscenely expensive plastic mirrors._

_She leans over the cafe table, pulling my glasses down. “I’m right.”_

_I feel the skin around my eyes crinkle, the mask fading. “I said you were assuming. I didn’t say the assumption was wrong.”_

_Her face splits, white teeth baring themselves easily, bold and unafraid. I wish the skin hiding behind her shirt and beneath her skirt would be so daring. My face falls, the crinkles disappearing, my chest deflating as she sets her cup down and rises from her chair. She walks away, and I am lost in that short green skirt. Daylight drowns under the shadows between the pleats as she moves. I hear her speaking over the clinking of sidewalk silverware and broken English and footsteps and car horns and squealing brakes. Her rasping voice is louder than the lower west side during lunch hour._

_"You coming with me?”_

_The inside of my skull screams “oh don’t I wish” as I approach her and take her hand. We live in the dog days of summer, yet her fingers are ice as she drags me down the pavement, suggesting we change our clothes and go for a run. She’s out of her goddamn mind, and she knows it. Running at high noon? In 90-degree heat? I agree to it anyway because the suffering will be over as soon as it starts. She’s not a runner. Not by a long shot. She won’t last more than five minutes._

_Five minutes turns into a week’s worth of completely unintentional sweat-soaked 5Ks. I fear this will become routine. I prefer running alone. I am in love, but the firework show ended two days ago, leaving nothing but smoke and ringing ears in its wake. Without the space between us, she becomes me, and I become her. I’ve never been particularly fond of the person in this body, but I think I’m the best man for the job. I am behind bones, not bars. Millions at my disposal, yet I’ll never make bail. She has no place here with me. Angels don’t belong in hell. ***_

Still underneath him, tears burned Sigyn’s eyes. Of all the complicated _insane_ metaphors spinning around in his head, why had he chosen _fireworks?_ In doing so, he’d put into words for the _entire bloody world_ to read, something personal- something private and deeply significant to _her_. Fireworks were supposed to belong to _them_. To Loki Odinson and Sigyn Frey...to _Starboy_ and _Sunlight_. No one knew that January 1st was their day. Not Darcy, not her mum, not his mum, or Hela, or Val, or Bucky, or Thor or anyone else. To everyone else, “early 2017” was close enough. The idea of him obsessing over the perfect, most poetic _(and tragic!)_ imagery to describe the loss of “that loving feeling” and deciding to go with “firework show’s over kids- go home” had left her feeling _gutted_.

“Sig?”

Even though he was right there, inches from her face, Loki’s voice was a distant echo.

“Sweetheart?”

The affectionate, _loving_ pet name pulled her out of September 2019 (technically the earliest hours of October) and brought her back to the earliest hours of January 2020. She met his eyes, blinking away tears.

He sighed, dropping his forehead to hers. _“Should_ I be scared of breaking you?”

_You swore you wouldn’t break, sweetheart...tell me that wasn’t a lie..._

God damn, he was hard as hell and between her perfect legs on _New Year’s Day,_ and he _needed_ her to be okay. No, being “okay” wasn’t good enough. He needed her to shamelessly _beg_ him for it, because she hesitated after he took that chair into her living room as well as _just now_ , both of which were setting off warning sirens in his head.

Eyebrows pulling together, he inhaled and exhaled slowly as though taking a relaxing drag of the air itself. Three months alone, doing stupid shit to numb the pain of having to _do_ life without her, wishing he could take back whatever the hell he did wrong, or whatever he _didn’t_ do that he _should_ have done, then finally losing what was left of his bruised ego and coming to her (with hopes of coming _in_ her), and now he was actually considering keeping it in his trousers for _her_ sake.

_My god, I love this girl to the stars and back._

She looked all over his face. “Loki, I-”

Her mouth snapped shut abruptly as the anxiety turned her stomach almost violently. Along with the aftereffects of too much alcohol, it was enough to send the few contents of her stomach up into her throat.

He frowned. “Sig, what-”

Slapping a hand to her mouth, she shoved his shoulders, and he sat up and back instantly. She scrambled off her bed and dashed for her bathroom, slamming the door behind her to spare him from the sight, though she wouldn’t be able to do anything about the wretched sound.

_Happy Fucking New Year._

* * *

**~ Seven months prior… 9:30pm, June 7, 2019 ~**

**(Two hours after the car crash before leaving for Montauk)**

Elbow on the driver’s side window, Loki leaned his head into his palm, stopping to give plenty of room to the car pulling out of a street parking spot a few blocks from JB’s building on 150 Joralemon Street in Brooklyn. Flipping on his right turn signal, he tapped the steering wheel repeatedly, his patience wearing thin as he waited for this _wannabe-DMV-sloth_ driver to hurry along. He would just drive on if this hadn’t been the first damn parking space that he’d seen within a five-block radius. This was always a busy area, what with being only one block from five trains, most of which were a one stop shop straight to Manhattan, but the traffic tonight was absurd. 

Sigyn groaned in the passenger seat, banging her head softly on the dash above the glove box. “This is madness. It’s supposed to be Brooklyn Heights, not bloody _Times Square!”_

“There’s a reason we avoid that place like the plague,” he muttered, checking his mirrors. No one was immediately behind him, gratefully.

“Why won’t Darce bloody respond to me?” she growled, gritting her teeth so hard it hurt. “She has left me on _read_ all damn day!”

Truly, it hurt _so_ much that her forever best friend (the person she would need most to get through the next two months!) hadn’t called her back after she left that panicky voicemail while Loki was helping Ana next to her crashed car earlier: _“Hey Darce, I really need to talk to you. Just, you know, I need to hear your voice. You’re my best friend on the planet. Please call me. I’m in a bad place right now. Okay, love you. Bye.”_ Thoroughly lost in the image of crunched cars and broken bleeding people, she jumped at the sound of Loki’s voice.

“Sweetheart, my ears need you to take it down a notch.” Yes, he was pissed off too, but his girl was _yelling_ right next to him, and in a small, enclosed car, no less.

“Sorry,” she lowered her voice, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Does Bucky leave you hanging like this? Of course, he doesn’t. He loves you. Everyone loves you.”

_Everyone wants you to STAY._

“That is a patently false statement,” he objected, kissing the top of her head as he opened his last texts with JB. “You _know_ Lewis loves you to death, but she’s as flaky as clinical strength dandruff. You’re just too used to _my_ rapid response time.”

Curling her hand around his elbow, she swallowed the lump in her throat. He was right. He’d raised the bar, made everyone else look sloppy and inconsiderate, and now she had to adjust back to normal humdrum life without him. Now was probably a good time to practice counting calming breaths just like he’d taught her to (and taught again and _again)_ every time work stress started getting out of hand. She would need it at the airport on Tuesday. Otherwise she would hyperventilate in the checked baggage line while giving him that one final hug before two months of _nothing_.

_That, or I’ll get arrested for breaking through the JFK security lines to chase down my boyfriend in the Virgin Atlantic international terminal._

She sniffled a bit and reached up to rub her suddenly wet eyes, forcing a _these-aren’t-tears-they’re-just-dry-tired-eyes_ yawn, then sat upright to get away from the unpleasant twitchy sensation of his right forearm as he texted back and forth. Clearly _his_ friend loved him, and why wouldn’t he? Loki was so…he was…so…oh…what was the best adjective? Chewing her bottom lip, she frowned, trying to pull some fancy, fifty-cent word out of her brain. Okay, writing was clearly not her strong suit, nor was she a walking thesaurus.

_Simply (and accurately) put, Loki is the most amazing man in the universe_.

Correction: most amazing _human being._ Goodness knew _she_ was mad for him. Though in her current heartbreaking situation, she wished she’d never fallen for him. Tuesday would be a nightmare. She wouldn’t be able to let go of him. Maybe she _should_ quit her job. He’d told her that he could cover the costs of her bills and rent for however long she needed him to. All she needed was an internet connection to search for a new job, which meant that she could do it from anywhere. Namely, every city on Loki’s book tour. His sudden voice made her jump a little in her seat.

“Oh, what marvelous timing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “JB said that the prep school across from his building had a graduation event tonight, and _oh_ apparently the _entire tri-state area_ attended it.”

Releasing a heavy breath, he leaned his head back so he wouldn’t bang it against the steering wheel. Normally the extra traffic wouldn’t bother him to this extent, but that crash earlier had shaken his nerves, and he felt like a sitting duck on this street. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned up the music to drown out the rumbling engines of car after car driving by _right next to him_. A century later, he was _still_ waiting for this goddamn parking spot, and he finally broke his calm exterior.

Hitting the steering wheel with his palm- _whack!_ -he shouted at the unmoving car, each word punctuated with another hit.

“OH-” _whack_ “-MY-” _whack_ “- _GOD!!”_

_WHACK_.

He dragged his hand down his face. “What did I ever _do_ to this person??”

His mini outburst probably _should_ have unnerved Sigyn. _However,_ the deep, gritty tone of his voice was making her shaky for an entirely different reason. If she had it her way, she would climb over the middle console and straddle him right now. Rolling her head to the side to look at him, her eyebrows pulled together as she bit her lip.

_Good god, his profile…that tight, angry jaw… why do I like his nose THIS much…I have problems._

_CLEARLY._

“Seriously- come _ON,”_ he growled, white knuckling the wheel with his left hand while moving the gear shift side to side with his right hand as was his habit any time the car was in neutral. He was on the verge of giving up on this spot, but then JB texted him, and he looked down at the final text on the screen:

Eyes blowing wide, his head snapped up to see the driver pulling away.

“FINALLY,” he growled, jamming the clutch to the floor with his left foot while yanking the gearshift hard left and straight back into first. He released the clutch while giving it some gas, and so the tricky dance of rapid gear switching began.

Eyes dancing fluidly between mirrors, parked cars, moving ones, pedestrians, and the car’s parking cam dash display, he sped forward one car’s length beyond the space, then braked hard and fast. Clutch to the floor again, he shoved the stick all the way forward, shifting into reverse.

“Head down, sweetheart,” he said, setting his right hand on the back of the passenger side headrest and twisting his entire torso to watch behind him.

“Oh right, sorry!”

She ducked forward but kept her eyes on him because- _oh hell_ -seeing him dominate...or ehm... _drive_ stick shifts like a damn pro turned her body to jelly _every_ time. It was second only to her hair kink. Heart kicking into high gear (oh the unintentional puns), she watched his tongue poke out to wet his lips as he turned the wheel with his left hand. Right hand still on her headrest, he stepped on the gas and whipped the car back into the parking space with perfect aim. Lord, the man made it look _effortless_. She sighed, sitting upright again as he shifted back into neutral and yanked up the parking brake.

“Loki Odinson, you sold your soul to be able to drive like that,” she said, shaking her head. “It is the only explanation.”

Killing the engine, he grinned crookedly as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Yet another reason to think I’m the villain in this story.”

He then carefully leaned over the parking brake, slid one hand up her inner thigh and the other behind her neck. Just as his lips touched hers, the cars that had been stuck behind the red light a block behind them drove by, several of which honked, then they heard several shouts and whistles.

“Look at this slick motherf-” 

“Boy. What. Even.”

“He said SWERVE.”

“God. DAMN. That job was clean as HELL.”

“Boy told Vin Diesel HOLD MY BEER.”

“YOU HAVE LEVELED UP, SON.”

Other words and phrases were spoken, but he had no clue how the hell to translate what he assumed was Gen Z slang. Her shoulders started shaking, and he laughed out loud when she snorted against his mouth. The rapid fire back and forth conversation on the sidewalk outside was absolutely _bonkers_.

She eyed the group from behind the safety of tinted windows. “Please explain what _‘swerve’_ means in this context,” she asked, trying to gain control of her snickering.

“Sure, I can answer that, no problem,” he replied, grabbing his phone to text JB that he was right across the street from his building. “I just need to search through the _‘shit kids will say in 2019’_ section of Encarta first.”

She opened her door at the same time he did, and as he walked around to her side, she arched one eyebrow at him.

“What’s Encarta?” she asked, head tilted in confusion.

Just before he reached her, he halted mid-step, eyeing her from under his brow. “Oh my god, please be joking.”

Eyes rolling hard enough to get stuck behind their sockets, she reached forward, curled her fingers into the fabric of his perfectly fitted, plain black V-neck tee and dragged him to her.

“Um...of _course_ I’m joking,” she said, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him with her as she leaned back against the car window. For pity’s sake, she was born in ‘88, not _‘98_.

Going up onto her toes to reach his ear, she whispered, “I even used _card catalogues_ back in the day.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he deadpanned, looking at the text that just popped up on his phone as she laughed against the hollow of his throat.

_JB: be out in 5 or so. Darce is still packing_ 🙄

Jaw clenching, Loki tapped the convenient “thumbs down” icon over the text. It occurred to him then, as he slid his phone into his back pocket, that Sig was no longer laughing into his neck, but gliding her lips _and_ tongue over it. His eyes rolled back, and he suppressed a loud groan.

“ _Easy_ , woman,” he hissed, pressing the heel of his hand against the top edge of the door frame, his short-trimmed nails digging into his palm as she closed her mouth over the skin below the hinge of his jaw. Sure, since it was dark out here, their _excessively_ close contact wasn’t entirely visible, but _still_. “There are _children_ present.”

“Then we should get back in the car,” she suggested quietly.

Stars above, she wanted him to control her just like he’d controlled this mint condition, freshly waxed, gunmetal grey 6-speed. She wanted to hear him say _“head down, sweetheart”_ for reasons other than being able to see out the window. She was also breaking apart inside over what would happen on Tuesday, and the combined emotions made it damn near impossible for her to keep her hands off him. All signs pointed toward getting back in the car and driving somewhere without prying eyes.

Since he was approximately three seconds from saying “screw it” and grinding against her in a decidedly _not_ family friendly fashion on a crowded street, he gritted his teeth and forced a few inches between their hips. As she blinked wide-eyed up at him, tugging on his neck a little, he watched her perfect teeth scrape over her bottom lip, and for _just_ a moment, he forgot they were surrounded by people. During those seven seconds of heat-induced blind delirium, he shoved his knee between her thighs to push them apart, but he snapped out of it quickly and stepped back, his eyes blowing when he heard his name spoken by several unfamiliar voices over the sound of the loud traffic.

“Is that Loki Odinson?”

“Oh my god, it _is_ him.”

As though it might offer him some reprieve from the gravity holding him down on this street where he was too goddamn visible to the world around him, he looked up at the night sky with pleading eyes. He might just push Sig back into this car and take off toward his place. He could text JB to take the R train to Canal once Lewis finished packing up her _entire house_ for a two-day trip. 

A different voice asked, “Who’s L-...uh...what was the name?”

“How do you _NOT_ know who _Loki Odinson_ is?”

He exhaled slowly, resisting the temptation to pull a dick move and walk right up to them and say _“he doesn’t know who I am the same way that YOU don’t know that I’m not a fucking A-list, household name”_ to that person’s face. To be fair though, he was about to jet-set around Europe for eight weeks as though he _was_ an A-lister. How had he allowed HC to sucker him into this nightmare? Was the tour sold out? Yes. Would he meet thousands of people who adored him? Yes. Would all those happy, excited faces and possible squealing and heart-warming personal stories of how his books helped them get through something in their own lives make up for a forced existence outside of New York and everything he loved for two months straight?

_I’m not counting on it._

“Why _would_ he know who Lo is? You know Jayden can’t read.”

_I don’t know these people, but I’m inclined to be offended on “Jayden’s” behalf._

“Can’t read? Woman, did I ask you to spell something?”

“Books! Books! Books!”

Eyebrows pulling together, Loki pursed his lips. Uh…what was that person even saying? Well, he wasn’t exactly surprised by that impossible to follow response, because given the decibel of their slightly slurred voices, unsteady steps, raucous laughing and wildly flinging gestures, he was 99.9% certain that this group was utterly _wasted_. He didn’t judge people for such things, of course, but the extra alcohol had taken what would otherwise be “talking” and turned it into accidental _shouting_.

_If only they weren’t shouting about ME, it would be like watching decent stand-up._

The one who had asked the question- poor “illiterate” Jayden -looked rightly confused. “Now you’re just yellin’ random shit like you got Tourette’s. Or a toddler who learned a new word. Or had one too many edibles.”

_Okay, I like this Jayden kid._

“No, you gotta actually _read books_ to know who Lo is ‘cause he’s an author.”

_Actually, darling, I’ve no doubt that most people who read books have no idea who I am._

“Did you say ‘Hulu is’ or ‘who Lo is’? Nah, you know what? I don’t care.”

_Neither should I, yet here I am questioning my writing capabilities simply because not everyone “cares” to open my books._

“She’s talkin’ about the guy who wrote _Starboy_ and _Sunlight._ He’s standing right over there.”

_Oh for- why does everyone drop “Looking for” from the title? Is it some catchy “S” theme to them?_

The title of his third novel, which he was planning to announce in September, was _Satellite Tides_ , and he should probably prepare for that to turn into just _Satellite_ instead. He rolled his eyes, annoyed that he was speculating over inconsequential nonsense. Scratching the back of his neck, he scowled at the ground, still listening to their conversation.

Someone else said, _“Starboy_ was hot as hell, but ugh… _Sunlight?_ Um, MARRY ME.”

Pressing his lips together, his chest deflated. They’d likely beg him for a _divorce_ after the new one. He glanced at Sig in his periphery then, his mouth falling open a bit as his heart rate started to climb a little too quickly. This was the first time he’d realized that his new novel would feel like a breakup, like a relationship falling apart...until the last two chapters. What a _horribly_ timed revelation, here on a packed street in Brooklyn. Maybe he should put a disclaimer on the first page: * _TO AVOID BURNING EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND, READ ALL 311 PAGES OF THIS BOOK!_

No, that would violate his “no spoilers” policy. The only thing he could say was “finish the book, and then we’ll talk about it” and hope that no one served him papers for breaking their hearts in the _first bloody chapter_. Swallowing nervously, he dropped his forehead to his girl’s shoulder.

Sliding one hand up to the back of his head, she leaned her cheek against his temple, unsure what was making him _this_ upset. No doubt he was aware of the conversation between those most likely university-aged students, and overhearing people discuss him often made him a little uncomfortable, which might be a contributing factor. However, his current demeanor seemed legitimately _pained_. They were still talking about him, and it was probably best to get the hell away from them before something _uncouth_ was said.

“Want to go to the other sidewalk?” she asked, lacing her fingers with his. 

Without hesitation, he said, “Yes please.”

Once the traffic cleared, he hurried across the street, dragging her with him. Maybe it was the car crash or the inevitable book tour or the fear of taking a nose dive off of that pedestal the critics had put him on after the last one, but he did _not_ want to hear people talk about his books. Unhealthy as it was, he needed to prove that _everything_ he created was worthy, and compared to the others, his new novel would probably be a letdown. _Fantastic-_ now he was so keyed up about it that, for the first time, he would prefer to hear vapid, overly sexual commentary about his _body_ right now. Trying to shake off the negativity in his head, he blew out a breath and tightened his grip on her hand as they stepped up onto the curb. Whatever- looks or books -at least they hadn’t said a word about _Sig_.

Hearing people talk about his girl tended to send him flying over the edge with more gravitas than Thelma and Louise. Most people were nice and respectful, but even so, a small population of obsessive, predacious “fans” _just would not stop_ fixating on her. They came up with the most lunatic reasons to justify hating her, and they weren’t afraid to voice it through their goddamn internet megaphones. The most recent instance had happened during Sig’s unintentional weight loss while _grieving for her dead friend._ Those absolute _monsters_ came after her for perpetuating “ultra-thin beauty standards” and thereby promoting eating disorders. Talk about making one’s blood boil-he’d punched an _actual_ hole in his drywall. That was the first time he’d responded with an overtly candid (and _long)_ Instagram post about the hate directed at her:

**_***_ ** _To my KIND fans: THANK YOU for always being lovely, supportive, and respectful, especially during this emotionally trying month. I hope to be able to thank you in person one day, and if that happens, I’ll dole out massive hugs for it. Now please feel free to ignore the rest of this post, because my next words are exceedingly harsh, and spattered with explicit angry language, and I assure you that they are not meant for you darlings. -LO x_

_(Also, won’t it be hilarious if one of the people from the group below actually flags this post as “abusive”? Oh my god- the IRONY.)_

_To the self-entitled brats claiming to “care” for me while simultaneously harassing my girlfriend:_

  * _I wish I could brush this off as gag-inducing drama driven by fickle “fans” who will likely move on to obsessing over the private life of some other unfortunate “celebrity” (I don’t believe I fit into that category but whatever) in a month or two. However, you twats have been tagging my girl in hateful posts and/or leaving abusive comments, be it on her page or mine, for two and a half goddamn years, and the frequency with which you do so has not declined but rather INCREASED, therefore, I have (unsurprisingly) reached my breaking point. The gloves are off._
  * _According to my social media team’s estimates, out of my nearly 300K followers, you lot make up less than 1%. That sounds like nothing, but it isn’t nothing if one accounts for how fucking LOUD you are. This is the first and last time I’ll address your absurd, grossly inappropriate, openly obsessive behavior in one of my posts. I get it. Your hormones have run amuck. You have NEEDS. I’m not stopping you from being as loud as you want amongst yourselves, but for the love of god, you continually tag me (and my girlfriend!) in your beyond vulgar posts and in MY comments on MY posts. What the hell is WRONG with you?_
  * _Until now, I’ve been “gracious” with you wretched creatures, because apparently, most of you are at least fifteen years my junior, and I’d rather not waste my time arguing with people who can’t even rent a fucking car. HOWEVER, we are nearly halfway through 2019, and I have now been tagged in 3,521 rude, harassing, or downright abusive posts and/or comments. I’ve seen “EDUCATE URSELF LO” (or some equally insipid version thereof) in response to bullshit articles, disgusting rumors, and deliberate misinterpretations of goings on in my personal life, which supposedly “prove” that the person I love is “problematic.” If you all genuinely thought you could continue to “OMG DRAG HER!” without losing “access” to ME, you should consider having your heads checked. (For obvious reasons, I know several psychiatrists who might be able to help you all combat your seemingly insurmountable Misery-esque neurosis. Oh dear, did I just say ANOTHER problematic thing? THE HORROR.)_
  * _Barely legal “adults” telling a 36-year old ACTUAL adult to “educate” himself is not only peak Karen, but peak c**t. If you had even a shred of class, you wouldn’t throw mind-numbingly pathetic toddler-style tantrums on public social media platforms due to, for instance, some random picture of me kissing my girlfriend. Newsflash: I’m in love with her, and I don’t want anyone BUT her, so…tough shit. I swear to everything, you are not only an embarrassment to me, but to my respectful, caring, intelligent, thoughtful, big-hearted, NOT creepy readers/fans for whom I have great affection. They deserve the world, and it is only for their sakes that I remain active at ALL on this account._
  * _I’ve instructed my social media team to “take out the trash” starting tomorrow, but before they drop Les Enfant Terribles into internet nothingness on my behalf, since I think #Starboy said it best, I’ll give him the last words:_ _“[...] here you are, hell bent on tying me down, both figuratively and literally. I know these velvet ropes really do it for you, but I’m not your fucking submissive. I’m not your mountain to climb. I’m not your challenge. I’ll never be your greatest conquest. [...] you’ll never actually drive this car. You don’t know how to drive a stick anyway, and I sure as hell won’t be your training vehicle. Go practice stalling out on some old cash-for-clunkers reject.” *******_



His team still sifted through his mentions once a week to get rid of the haters, but even so, some of the nastiness still made its way to him, and ever since the first bitchy comment showed up in his notifications two years ago, he’d been extremely wary any time people said a word about her. So... again...even though he was currently amid a mini freak out about _Satellite Tides_ and didn’t want to hear his books discussed, at least _this_ group on JB’s street wasn’t going on about Sig.

Of course, just as that tiny silver lining crossed his mind, one of them _ruined_ it by mentioning her. 

“Who’s that girl with him?”

Loki turned his head sharply in their direction, staring daggers even though there was no way that they could possibly see it. Dammit- he’d crossed the street so he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore! So much for _that_.

One of the others replied, “That is definitely his girlfriend. I follow her on Insta.”

_You mean you STALK my girlfriend on Insta._

_Calm. Down._

“The one from _Sunlight_ , right?”

“She’s not _in_ it. He just dedicated it to her.”

“How _dare_ she steal my husband from me.”

_No one STOLE me. I chased Sigyn Frey like a madman from day ONE._

“Zane, he’s like _twenty_ years older than you!”

_Oh no no no. I’m going to be sick. That kid is only 16._

“Uh no. He’s 36, not 46.”

_Oh, thank god- 26 is an ACCEPTABLE age._

Wait...did that mean these people thought he looked _46?_ As though he wasn’t already paranoid about his slowly (sadly) receding hairline...

“Sig...N... Frey... weird name.”

_Weird? Alright, BECKY._

“Don’t leave comments like that. Sometimes Lo goes _OFF_ on people for talkin’ about her. And sometimes even for benign shit.”

“Like...he’ll reply directly to them?”

_Absolutely I will, and my publicist despises me for it._

“Yup. He even wrote a whole post warning people to leave her alone back in May. Granted, his reason for that post was _legit_. But still. He’s kinda volatile.”

_I prefer the term “certifiably moody” but whatever._

“I want him to be volatile _on top_ of me. HAHAHAHAHAHA.”

_Jesus. Christ._

“How old is this Sigyn girl?”

_Old enough to remember card catalogues at least._

“Probably like 22 cuz Lo can _literally_ get it.”

Raising an eyebrow, he pursed his lips. 22? Uh...no thank you. No hate, but that age couldn’t remember a time before the internet, which would make him feel positively geriatric.It would be _just_ sex, and that no longer interested him, though he doubted anyone would believe him if he said as much. He’d had his fill of purely physical encounters. The only thing that interested him- would _ever_ interest him - was currently holding his hand, which come to think of it, wasn’t close enough for his liking. Running his free hand through his hair, he let go of Sigyn’s hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side. Those people weren’t saying anything cruel or rude, but- _shit_ -he really was too protective for his own good.

_Too “volatile” for my own good... and that’s WITH treatment._

Gratefully, JB and Lewis rounded the corner then, sparing him from giving further attention to a group of strangers who weren’t saying anything harmful but had nonetheless set him on an excessively self-conscious mental path. Right now, he ought to simply be with his friends, since it would be his last chance to do so for a while.

Arms wide open, Darcy hurried to Sigyn. “Dude-” she glared at Loki’s arm around Sigyn’s waist “-I want to hug my bestie, so move your clingy ass over. I’m so sorry for not getting back to you, Siggy. Shitty insane day at work, and all that…”

Sigyn hugged her like her life depended on it. “It’s fine.”

_It’s NOT AT ALL fine, Darce, but whatever. I LOVE YOU._

Darcy kissed her cheek and threw her arms around her neck. “Seriously, Loki. Come on, useless boy. Help Bucky with my bags,” she said, hugging her friend even closer.

She pointed to the bag she’d dropped on the ground when she’d first come waltzing out of the building, and Loki blinked mutely at her for a moment before eyeing the yellow polka dot bag next to him on the ground. He made a face. Dear god- were his eyes bleeding? The thing was _hideous_. No no no no no, surely even weak-armed Lewis could handle _that_ measly little bag. It couldn’t be more than half full. Admittedly, the woman already had one bag slung over her shoulder, and it looked like it was the heavier of the two, but that was on _her_ for packing a thousand bags. He was feeling less than generous in a myriad of ways, and that was _before_ anyone ordered him to go anywhere near that yellow atrocity.

He touched it with the toe of his sneaker. “Tell me you don’t mean _this_ one.”

“Uh, yeah, genius,” she called out to him over her shoulder as she dragged his girl away from him toward the car, “Do you see any others?”

Did Lewis just, at an _offensive_ decibel, sarcastically call him a _genius_ right here on a packed street in Brooklyn? 

_Cool it, LO._

_I don’t have to COOL a goddamn thing!_

Sig’s friend let go of her just as they reached the edge of the pavement and turned around to face him, looking back and forth from him to the thing on the ground. Why couldn’t he think of _any_ clever retort? His quick wit was bailing on him, and _oh_ it was pissing him off. _Dammit-_ his suddenly useless brain was giving him a highly annoying eye twitch.

Bucky walked up behind him then. “Doll, it’s not even heavy,” he said loud enough for her to hear him from twenty feet away on a crowded sidewalk.

Darcy smiled brightly at him. “Therefore, Starboy over there has no reason to _not_ grab it so we can get on the road.”

“Oh, I have my reasons,” Loki said, giving her a pointed look, which was apparently _hilarious_ because she snorted loudly and slapped a hand over her mouth.

Eyes rolling, he glanced sideways at his friend who was adjusting his grip on one of the two bags he’d slung over one shoulder. Looking in all directions, Bucky exhaled heavily through his mouth.

“Dammit,” he mumbled through his teeth, “this crowd is turning me ten espresso shots level jittery.”

“I’ll get the damn bag,” Loki said, noting the man’s twitching fingers and clenched jaw.

As much as he felt like being a dick to Lewis for putting him in a situation where people would see him with that should-be-burned rockabilly Betsy Johnson throwaway on his shoulder, clearly his friend was in no shape to deal with the back and forth arguing in the middle of this street. God, he _hated_ it for JB. The aftereffects of Iraq would haunt the man for life.

_Mmhm, and if your friend can go overseas and fight in an ACTUAL WARZONE, you can pick up that crime against GOOD fashion._

Pressing his lips together, he bent down into a low squat to grab the yellow polka dot (ugh) shoulder strap, which was inconveniently stuck underneath the bag. He cringed when his hand grazed it.

_Oh my god, I am two seconds from blessing this Brooklyn pavement with my vomit._

“Thanks.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair as Loki blew out a breath, still trying to work up the courage to pick the stupid thing up. “I feel like a pack mule. I told her, word for word, ‘if you’re lookin’ for chivalry, doll, this ain’t it. That would be me _choosin’_ to do this shit, not bein’ _ordered_ to’ and all she did make a sad face and walk away.” He frowned down at Loki. “You okay, man?”

“I think I’m allergic to this fabric pattern,” Loki made a gagging sound, and Bucky doubled over, grabbing his stomach while trying not to laugh too loudly.

“Oh my god, Lo...man...I shoulda known that would kill you,” he croaked, rubbing tears from his eyes. “It’s not as bad as having to go on an emergency tampon run for her.”

“Nope, _this_ is far worse,” Loki grumbled, dragging a hand down his face, still unable to bring himself to sling it over his shoulder. “One can easily conceal those in a shopping basket. Plus, that particular errand pleasantly reminds me that I successfully avoided knocking up my girl that month.”

“Way to look at the bright side, my man.”

Both men turned at the sound of Darcy’s _too cheery_ voice, which was much closer now since she had apparently walked back to them during their short conversation.

“We’d already be in the car if His Royal Highness _‘do they make this in black’_ Prince Lo here would get over his aversion to fun vintage style,” she said, then started laughing as Sigyn hurried up behind her and slapped her shoulder, mouthing _“STOP”_ to her.

Loki knew he was high-key overreacting to a NON-thing. He knew it was more important to get his friend out from the middle of all these people. He knew that helping a woman with her bags was the mature thing to do. He knew those things, but when combined with everything else- the crash and the book and the tour and leaving his girl and haters and stupid bags in stupid Brooklyn -hearing Lewis call him “Prince Lo” was the last straw. Glaring up at her from under his brow, he set his forearm on his knee, his hand dangling in front of his chest.

“I’m not your goddamn bellboy, Lewis.”

Eyes blowing wide, Sigyn looked between her boyfriend and her best friend, then she stepped around Darcy to grab the yellow source of this completely unnecessary argument. “Here, I’ll get it. I don’t mi-”

“NOPE,” Darcy grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Don’t you dare give in. I know he’s your dream boy and all that, but he’s being an asshole. We need to stick together. Chicks before dicks.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as she dragged Sigyn back toward the curb twenty or so feet away, then he sighed heavily.

“Here, you take my nice plain black bag,” he said, then imitated Darcy’s voice inflection, “and I’ll get the _fun vintage_ one.”

As they switched bags, Loki rolled his eyes. “She’s baiting me, and I’m taking that bait like an angry simpleton.”

Even though they were weighed down by unnecessary luggage, Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose we could flip it and bait her instead. I mean, she did just call us dicks, so maybe we should live up to the name and retaliate in a highly classy ‘bros before hoes’ manner.”

Just as Loki opened his mouth to ask what exactly that would entail, the niche audiophile vinyl store next door cranked the volume of their absolutely _phenomenal_ sound system through the wide open doors and windows, and he heard JB laugh awkwardly. He looked at his friend, one eyebrow to his hairline.

“Oh my god, Lo-” he gestured vaguely all around them “-tell me you’re seein’ all these people dancin’, otherwise I’m hallucinatin’ and-”

“You’re not hallucinating, JB,” Loki spoke over him as he looked up and down the pavement and across the street.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ when he noticed several large _‘CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 2019!’_ banners and tables with cakes and plates and what not. Had those been here the entire time, or did people only just set them up? Come to think of it, he’d heard the record store playing music all along, but he’d paid no attention because...well...most retail shops play music in the background, but this one had been providing music for a graduation party. It was a legitimate street party, with a few hundred (at least) attendees. 

“Oh, you know what-” Bucky pursed his lips, squinting as he turned in a circle “-this is actually a school-sanctioned graduation reception. They do this every year. Completely forgot.”

Eyes moving from stranger to stranger, a crooked grin spread slowly across Loki’s face. “Looks fun actually.”

His friend responded with a noncommittal hum. “Maybe...possibly, but I still gotta get off this damn street, man.”

Loki was only half aware that his friend was still speaking. He was frozen to this spot on the pavement while staring at Sig far away at the other end by the crosswalk, and he wanted nothing more than to dance with her just like all these other perfectly _carefree_ people.

“What’re you doin’ just standin’ there, man?” Bucky asked tightly, his fingers twitching. “Montauk is callin’ our names, and you’re stallin’ on me.”

Finally tearing his eyes away from his girl, Loki let his head loll to the side and looked at his friend instead. “I’m tense as hell, and clearly you are too.” He gestured to the crowd. “I feel like dancing with them.”

Blinking several times, Bucky pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Love ya, man, but you are on your own there. I don’t dance.”

Still separated by the crowd, Darcy frowned and leaned toward Sigyn. “Admittedly this is totally petty, but this has turned into an official game of chicken, and I refuse to be the one to swerve out of the way.”

“Oh please, you know you’re just offended that he thinks you have terrible fashion sense.”

“Damn right I’m offended,” Darcy snapped, giving her best friend a look. “I’m offended by that _tone_ you’re taking with me.”

“Well excuse me for getting a bit defensive of him when you didn’t say ‘hi’ or anything! You just told him-”

“Woah woah woah,” Darcy spoke over her, giving her a look, “you have to be on my side here, sister. I know Loki hung the moon and all-” she waved a flippant hand “-but this is what feminism is all about, my friend. The patriarchy is right over there, using their really great hair and lean athletic bodies and sharp jawlines and blah blah, to distract us from the fact that they are trying to make me carry my own bag, and I’m sorry but that is not what our suffragette foremothers fought for. We’re already stuck carrying the babies, so the least these pretty boys can do is carry the goddamn bags.”

“Yes, we are truly showing the _sexy_ patriarchy who’s the boss right n-” Sigyn’s eyes blew wide then, and she turned to face her friend directly, gesturing to the guys with her chin. “The damn bag is on your boyfriend’s shoulder! You don’t have to carry it- problem solved! Now let’s just-”

“Which means my _man_ caved to your _boy_ , and that is total bullshit. Bucky has to carry three just so Loki doesn’t have to put his perfectly manicured hands on some peasant’s belongings?”

Sigyn squinted, trying to see the guys better in the dark, then groaned and rubbed her temples. Good lord, she hadn’t had a conversation this level of petty since her first year at NYU when some wasted girl yanked her by her hair and dragged her off a couch in the freshmen dorm because she’d supposedly snogged her boyfriend. To be fair, that was more of a fight than an argument, complete with scratching and slapping and hair pulling. It remained one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. Squinting further, she set her jaw, then put a hand on her hip.

“Oh my god, Darce, use your eyeballs,” she groaned, pointing at them. _“Your boy_ is only carrying TWO, not three. They just switched duffels is all. _You’re_ the one who started this juvenile madness by calling Loki names such as, and I quote-” she counted off on her fingers “ _-useless boy_ , and genius, and Starboy, and his royal highness, and prince Lo. And you _know_ he despises that last one. That was so un-”

“Um, Siggy…” Darcy spoke over her friend, swallowing audibly and leaning toward her. Speaking out of the side of her mouth, she said, “They are dancing. Those boys dropped the bags altogether and are now dancing in the middle of the sidewalk.” 

Sigyn stopped picking at the black nail polish on her thumb to look up at the guys just as Darcy threw her hands up and rolled her eyes.

“I don’t get why they’re doing this,” Darcy groaned. “My flyboy was all LETS GOOOOO, and _your_ Starboy was all FUUUUUCK YOU, and now they’re gonna flip a switch and start dancing at some rando’s high school graduation party?” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head then. _“Wow_ those ladies are getting close to my man. Oh no no no no. You are on your own, Siggy. I have some territory-marking to do.”

Surrounded by dancing bodies (singing too), Loki focused intently on his girl as she jumped awkwardly out of her friend’s way. Lewis was coming straight toward JB, and he assumed it had something to do with these newly legal girls moving a bit too close to her man. He was surprisingly jealous of his friend when Lewis openly grabbed him by his belt (Jesus- _not_ what he wanted to see) and started inappropriately grinding against him as though this was some sort of trap house beat when in reality it was the classic old school favorite _Suspicious Minds_ by the infamous king of rock and roll himself. Frowning deeply, he returned his gaze to his girl, who was still standing a _thousand years away_ in front of that crosswalk. 

_Why won’t she come to me like Lewis went up to JB? Does she not give a damn that I’m LEAVING on Tuesday?_

Mentally brushing that gut-wrenching thought aside, he refocused on the singing and dancing going on all around him- on the _fun_ things going on all around him.

Frozen to the pavement next to a street sign, Sigyn kept her eyes on Loki as she exhaled through her mouth. She wasn’t particularly good at the “anxiety-breathing” technique (who knew it was a “skill”?) but she could at least _try_. He looked so happy, so carefree, so... _A-ok_ , and maybe it was because he _liked_ the distance between them right now. Maybe he would like an _ocean_ between them. At some point he’d put his sunglasses on, probably because people were taking pictures of (and with) certified blue check _@lokiswriting_. He was so “on brand” right now, smiling for them and putting his arms around them and ducking into selfies with them, and she’d never felt so insignificant in her life.

Wearing those cool as hell shades with his hair up and _messed_ up while singing and dancing like he didn’t care who saw him, he was the incarnation of a hot summer night. She vaguely heard Darcy, who was still a good twenty feet away, shouting at JB- _“How is Loki able to hit the high notes? Baritones should not be able to switch into tenors at will like that!”_ -over the music. As though her best friend had posed the question to _her_ , Sigyn shrugged one shoulder in response.

“He can do everything,” she said under her breath, staring at her too perfect boyfriend.

_Except turn back time and UNSIGN his tour contract._

Great. Now she was falling down _that_ miserable rabbit hole too. She’d already been upset that he was surrounded by strangers, most of whom were _really_ pretty and probably ten years younger than her, therefore more exciting and spryer. Some were dancing so close to him, and he looked as though he was actually _enjoying_ this situation, when instead he ought to be getting the hell out of there before someone legitimately groped him. He carried a knife on him for that exact reason, for god’s sake! Oh well, maybe it was all fine and _dandy_ so long as it was some hot 22-year-old rubbing her ass against the front of his trousers.

Swallowing nervously, she chewed her lower lip. Was this how it would be when he was overseas? Would she see pictures and videos of him loving that classic Starboy “ _live fast, die right”_ life without her? Ugh, she could actually _feel_ the jealousy rising in her chest like excessive cheap liquor at a _bad idea_ party slowly making its way back up into her throat.

_Okay...I need to get the hell away from all these shiny happy people RIGHT NOW._

Spinning on her heel, she started toward the car, but she only made it halfway across the street before a familiar hand grabbed hers. When she turned around, Loki was pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and blinking silently at her. His eyes twinkled like the streetlamps, like brightly lit city windows. She caught herself before she scoffed _“how DARE you have the gall to look so HAPPY. How DARE your eyes be brighter than I’ve seen them since JANUARY while I’m over here breaking into pieces? How DARE you let your stunning irises turn twenty shades of gorgeous green and blue under these streetlights!”_ right into his face. The words he wrote on the spot at her doctor’s office and posted on his Insta came screaming back to her, though her mind automatically switched them to fit _her_ point of view instead of his: _“He blinks at me with iridescent eyes. Are they silver? I think they are stars. I think infinite light years will soon permanently fill the space between Loki and me. I think I’ll die before I get the chance to be anywhere near him again.”_

“Where do you think you’re going, gorgeous girl,” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers as he tugged her toward him and pulled her back to the sidewalk. He let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist instead.

“I was just going to grab my water from the car,” she said without missing a beat, faking a smile. 

No way in hell would she let him see how damn miserable she was right here in this moment. If he looked happy, then she could too. Even if it was the lie of the century. She waved a hand, attempting to look breezy and carefree about it.

“It’s so hot out here, and with all the dancing and... you know...”

He couldn’t look _less_ convinced, and it irked her to no end that she couldn’t fool him at _all_. She stopped the instinctive roll of her eyes, trying to keep eye contact with him, though her excessive blinking was ruining her “just fine, thanks” mask. Alright, lying might not be her strongest suit.

Looking all over her face, Loki shook his head. “This is the second time today that you have tried to run away from me.”

Her mouth fell open. “No, that’s not what I’m-”

“Do you have any idea how painful it is to watch you, literally and figuratively, _turn your back_ on me, Sig? Especially _now_ , of all times?”

Feeling like a piece of absolute human garbage, she lowered her eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised that he would process her actions much like a reader recognizes an overt _abandonment_ metaphor. And why wouldn’t he? She’d be lying to herself if she said that she wasn’t checking out of this relationship. If she said that she wasn’t too scared to roll up her sleeves and put in the hard work after the fireworks show of the first two years was over because it might just fall apart anyway, that would be a lie too.

_What a wretched little coward- if you love this man as much as you claim to, Sigyn, then fucking PROVE IT._

“I need you more than ever,” he said, reaching up to push her hair behind her ears. “Please just be _here_ with me. Don’t let the past drag you under the surface, and don’t focus on a future that neither of us is guaranteed. The former is depressing, and the latter produces overwhelming anxiety. Trust me on that, sweetheart.”

Knowing he was one thousand percent correct, and wishing to the stars and back that she could follow those _easier-said-than-done_ directions (for both their sakes), she wound her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. However, just as soon as she did that, she felt his fingertip on the underside of her chin, slowly lifting her head to look up at him.

“Focus right here-” he pointed at his eyes “-nowhere else.”

She swallowed, wondering how upset he might be if she told him that she didn’t want to look at his eyes unless they were wetter than Niagara Falls. Unless they were sad. Unless they screamed “ _I AM FALLING APART TOO, I SWEAR”_ at her.

“It’s called being _present,”_ he said, his fingertips slipping just under the back of her shorts as he started rocking her back and forth, “and presently, I want to dance with the love of my life.”

Blinking away the instant rush of tears, she slid her arms around his neck as he bent lower and danced like the _present_ was the only thing they had.

_Maybe it is the only thing we have. Maybe his next New Year won’t be mine after all._

To be continued...

_* Chapter song "Take It Back" by Darci ft. OZZIE *_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this chapter on my website a week ago, and anyone who likes my work enough to want the latest chapters as soon as possible can subscribe over there, if they want. I still publish on AO3, but I do so a week later. Now...moving on.
> 
> Credit to the late Elvis Presley for his song "Suspicious Minds", which is what Loki and Sig dance to at that graduation street party.
> 
> I have so much that I COULD say about this chapter, but I'm going to hold my tongue. I don't want to take away from the reader's experience, in ANY way, by mucking it up with explanations of my "intentions" as the writer. This story is so near and dear to me, and I would rather hear your GENUINE responses without my input.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts, questions, concerns...all that good stuff. I think if I was in the reader position, I would probably scream at me "WHEN ARE WE GETTING BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY PART FOR GOOD??"...but that's just me. *shrugs* Okay, guys. Please hit that kudos button if you like New Year- it requires nothing of you and means EVERYTHING to me. I'll see you (I hope!) in chapter 9.  
> <3 -Jen


	9. Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don't Burn Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY DECEMBER!!!! *hugs*

**Before you read chapter 9, some info about Bucky’s military background to better understand references that he and Loki make to it:

1\. I know that Bucky is a Sergeant in the MCU, but in my _New Year_ AU, he is a former Army Captain (medically-retired due to the injuries he sustained) 2. The United States Military Academy at West Point (commonly referred to as “West Point” or “USMA”) is a prestigious, academically-strenuous, physically-challenging, four-year university in West Point, NY in which cadets (the students) prepare to become commissioned officers in the US Army. They graduate as Second Lieutenants into various branches within the army, such as armor, aviation, infantry, artillery, medical, etc. 3. In this AU, Bucky was the “First Captain” of his 2006 West Point class, which means he was the commander of the entire cadet corps during his final year, referred to as “firstie” year, and had the top marks of his graduating class. 4. There is a mention of “knocking [Bucky’s] shiny gold class ring”, which refers to a derogatory nickname “ring-knocker” that is often given to recent West Point grads because of the association with a heavy, expensive, point-of-pride, class ring “knocking” against their desks or conference room tables or what not to show off their “superior” status amongst non-USMA commissioned officers and enlisted soldiers. 5. “Delta Force” is the retired name (though still used in movies) of an elite US Army special forces team, similar to “Team 6” Navy SEALS, but they don’t advertise themselves like the SEAL teams. Side note: GO ARMY, BEAT NAVY. (I’m not biased at all 😉)

And two things unrelated to the military stuff:

1\. There is a French quote “L’enfer c’est les autres” in this chapter, and it is from Jean Paul Sartre’s 1944 play “No Exit” in which the three main characters are strangers who drive each other mad in one room with no exit, and this represents hell. Feel free to look further into it if you’re in the mood for a claustrophobic nightmare of a read. (and how fitting for 2020 and all it's quarantine glory, right? SMH) 2. At one point, someone says “Does that summer breeze make you feel fine?”, and it is a reference to the 1972 song [“Summer Breeze”](https://youtu.be/MBCqzVPdGz4) by Seals and Crofts. (The link is to the Philip Steir remix because it's my FAVORITE) Might seem like an unnecessary note, but I didn’t want to automatically assume that everyone who reads this would get the joke.

Hope that preemptively clears up any confusion. Now...on to the feature presentation! -Jen

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

**_~On the road to Montauk, 11:33 pm, June 7, 2019~_ **

Clenching his jaw, Loki glared at the line of traffic up ahead. They’d managed to avoid the worst of the typical Friday night highway rubbernecking on 40 miles of I-495, and here they were, nearly to their exit, and suddenly it was bumper to bumper.

“Brilliant,” he sighed, rapidly downshifting as he checked his mirrors and zoomed across multiple lanes of cars to take whatever this closest random exit was.

In the passenger seat next to him, Bucky snorted. “The irony of your impatience to get there faster is that you just put us on a road that will take 20 minutes longer.”

Reaching up to open the moonroof, Loki shrugged. “Time is relative. 20 minutes of wasting gas on not moving will feel like an hour.”

“Hey, Lo man, I get it. I hate driving sticks in stop and go,” Bucky said, gesturing to the shifter under Loki’s hand, “but we just missed a golden opportunity back there to have a real heart to heart about our mutual hatred of every other driver on the road.”

“We can still do that without subjecting ourselves to their idiocy,” Loki pointed out, grabbing his water bottle from the cup holder, and twisting off the lid.

Bucky set his arm on the open window, letting his hand dangle off the side. “Yeah but see now I’m not able to think of all the things I hate because I’m too busy enjoying the wind in my hair.”

“Does that summer breeze make you feel fine, JB?” 

Putting his face in his hands, Bucky bent forward and laughed into his palms. “So...fine,” he managed between heaving laughs. After a moment, he gathered himself and sat up straight again. “You should pull over. I wanna drive.”

“Okay, but just so you know, if you’re looking for a conversation, that won’t happen. I will pass out in thirty seconds after you take over.”

“Nah, you’ll pass out as soon as your ass hits the seat. And fine by me. I only care about gettin’ the chance to take this fuckin’ gorgeous M3 on the ride of its life.”

“It’s been on the ride of its life every second that my hand has been on the stick,” Loki said coolly as he pulled up the parking brake and opened the door. When he passed Bucky on his way to the other side of the car, he lightly hit the back of his shoulder, then settled into the passenger seat.

Bucky clicked the seat belt into place and released the brake. There was a fairly lengthy moment of silence before he responded. “I’m havin’ a seriously homophobic mental response to that phrasin’, Lo.”

“How very progressive of you to check yourself before you wreck yourself,” Loki replied, forcing a glib tone despite wanting to laugh as his friend revved the engine and pulled back onto the road. He reached up to rub his suddenly very tired eyes.

“I’ve known you for two years, and I still can’t tell if you’re bein’ serious or not half the time. Is it the accent? The _‘I slept through every lecture at Oxford but still graduated first in my class’_ attitude is off-putting as hell, you snot-nosed Brit.”

Loki didn’t miss a beat. “I went to _Harvard_ , you dull-as-fuck Yank.”

“Harvard, Oxford, tuh-may-tuh, tuh-mAH-tuh.” Bucky waved a hand. “I think they rank first and second on the ‘top schools for arrogant dicks’ list.”

For the love, if Loki weren’t rubbing his eyes, he would roll them hard enough to make his eye sockets hurt. When it came to highly demanding and extremely _exclusive_ academia, JB was one to talk.

“Says the 2006 First Captain of the corps of cadets from the United States Military Academy at West Point while knocking his shiny gold class ring and clinking glasses with five-star generals.”

_Cue over dramatic eye roll in 3...2...1..._

“I’ll give you the five-star general thing, but I don’t knock my goddamn ring. Don’t remember the last time I even _wore_ it.”

Yep. His eyes were probably stuck up there now. Tremendous.

“It must be wonderful to lack _that_ much self-awareness,” Loki droned, idly dragging his nails back and forth over his denim-clad knees several times, buffing the already smooth edges. 

“My _GOD_ , you need to rein in those smug mic drops before your high horse bucks you out of that saddle.”

“Alright, we’re done-” he pinched the bridge of his nose “-you clearly prepared these clapbacks prior to this conversation and are reading them from an invisible three _twirling ring_ binder, and I refuse to banter with cheaters.” He couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face as his friend burst out laughing, which shocked Sigyn and Darcy awake in the backseat.

Darcy shrieked as Sigyn’s flailing arm whacked her face. “Son of a bitch, Siggy, OUCH.”

“Blame Chuckles McGee up there, not me!” Sigyn shot back, then groaned as Bucky spoke over them.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lo man,” he laughed, pulling the shifter into sixth gear and zipping down the entrance ramp back onto the highway, “I feel like I’m tryin’ to outtalk a master in word wizardry or some shit.”

Loki shrugged. “Well that’s on you, _peasant_ , for not knowing that the president and fellows of Harvard College, with the consent of the honorable and reverend board of overseers and acting on the recommendation of the faculty of arts and sciences, conferred on Loki Odinson the degree of Master of Arts summa cum laude in ' _word wizardry or some shit'_ on the fifth day of June in the year of our lord two thousand and seven.” His friend was legitimately wheezing now. Good god, the man sounded like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Breathe, JB,” he said, laughing quietly as the wheezing continued. 

_“Jesus,_ Bucky-” Darcy grabbed onto Loki’s headrest “-slow down!”

“Shut up, Darce-” Sigyn leaned forward and squeezed Bucky’s right shoulder “-don’t listen to her. Fast is fun.” She winked at Loki when he rolled his head sideways to look back at her.

“Feel like I gotta devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other,” he said, merging into the light traffic, “but I don’t know which is which.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “They don’t call it ‘speed demon’ for nothing.”

Loki turned completely around in his seat to eye her. “Surely, you are not suggesting that _you_ are an angel.”

“Hell yes, I am an angel,” she said, drawing an invisible halo over her head. Biting into a smile, she inched toward him, and he instinctively inched backward. “Everywhere but the bedroom.”

Narrowing his eyes, he pursed his lips. “Oh, that’s right. JB mentioned that you kept your devil horns on last Halloween when you two fucked on _my_ bathroom counter at the party I mistakenly invited you to.”

Her eyes blew wide, and she smacked Bucky’s arm. “What the hell? Why would you tell him that?!”

“Street cred, doll.” He flashed a toothy smile. “Street cred.”

“Ha. Ha.” She flopped back into her seat. “You can forget getting any _street cred_ tonight.”

“Hey, ease up on me, woman,” he said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. “Coping with jokes is all I have.”

“I imagine that vape pen helps too,” Loki pointed out.

“Course it does. I could use some MDMA therapy on the side, but nope...can’t legalize somethin’ that might cut into all those pill-pushin’ profits. Jesus Christ, I took four bullets in one arm for those corrupt, lyin’ shits in Washington goin’ on and on about weapons of mass destruc-”

Loki was listening to him, but he also wasn’t. He’d heard this before. His friend was desperately in need of a vent session. He ought to refer JB to _his_ doctor because whoever was in charge of this man’s treatment was doing a piss poor job.

_Focus on your pal’s words, LO._

Loki blinked several times to clear his head, centering his attention on his friend.

“-sick and tired of all these jokers actin’ like Bush and Cheney were _better_ than these clowns we got now. I mean come _ON_ ; can’t we all be equal opportunity haters of these power-hungry monsters? Shit, Lo man. I was a high school senior watchin’ from Prospect Park when those damn planes hit, ya know? I couldn’t getta hold of my Ma ‘cause the cell networks were flooded. Least you were actually with your mom, not that bein’ at her place like _FIVE_ blocks from it was a good -”

Loki cleared his throat.

_I should have stayed in La-La Land._

He was most certainly _not_ anxious to relive that _horrendous_ September day.

_I fucking DESPISE September all thanks to ONE day._

His mum had been helping him load up his car with his belongings to take to Harvard with him that day. Nearly eighteen years later, and he could still smell the smoke if he didn’t shut the memory down immediately. And, yes, he realized that a self-proclaimed "lover of the smell of smoke" trying to shut down a memory due to his visceral olfactory response was a contradiction of epic proportions. But ash-filled air from burning skyscrapers wasn't _remotely_ comparable to the smell of, for instance, New Year's fireworks.

_I fucking ADORE January all thanks to ONE girl._

“-then I risk _everything_ and nearly lose a goddamn arm, but they can’t risk losin’ a donor. Fuckin’ cowards. Swear to god, I still feel the lead in my left arm whenever I-”

“I thought the first rule of Delta Force was ‘you do _not_ talk about Delta Force’,” Loki spoke over him, hoping to pull his friend back from the edge with some degree of humor.

_...and to pull MYSELF away from the edge._

Bucky smirked, looking sideways at him. “Delta Force sounds like a buncha highly trained flight attendants.”

“Must be why they retired their infamous team name,” Loki laughed.

Coping with jokes, indeed.

“Hard core special forces men couldn’t possibly be associated with such a _feminine_ occupation,” he added, further goading his former special ops friend. “What do they call those Delta boys now anyway?”

Bucky clucked his tongue. “If I tell ya, I have to kill ya. So... your call. Also, don’t go insultin’ two professions that require putting their lives on the line every day for you. What those folks do up in the air all day, surrounded by bitchy passengers complainin’ about that cryin’ baby three rows back sounds like a worse hell than anything I ever did- gettin’ shot four goddamn times included.”

Loki pressed his lips together, watching his friend’s jaw clench angrily while shaking his head. He opened his mouth to make another joke, but Bucky beat him to it.

“Sartre’s _No Exit_ hell coulda been set on an airplane. L’enfer c’est les autres.”

“Oh fuck,” Darcy piped up from the backseat. She leaned toward Sigyn, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. “I get so hot when he speaks in French. And I’m not just referring to full tongue kissing.”

Sigyn snorted, keeping her eyes on Loki’s face since he was turned toward Bucky. God, if there was an almighty creator, that creator was the most talented artist of...ever. Her boyfriend’s side profile was absolutely _perfect_.

Loki raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need to be fluent in French to recognize those words that his friend had just quoted. _Hell is other people_ \- the famous line from a play that he could barely get through because it was the ultimate claustrophobic nightmare.

“Hey JB-”

“-problem is,” Bucky continued his thought, speaking over Loki as though lost in a Memory Lane trance, “I’m your perfect disillusioned, shell shocked, postmodern candidate, but all that nihilistic shit gets under my skin. If you’re gonna burn it to the ground because you see it for the smoke and mirrors bullshit that it was, then at least TRY to create something better from the ashes you leave behind you.”

_Okay, now it’s getting too real. Far too real._

Elbow on his knee, Loki set his forehead in his palm.

_I need to end this conversation NOW._

_Ever think he might have some goddamn perspective that you would benefit from hearing even if it hurts, LO?_

“-flyin’ back from Kuwait, and I’m lookin’ out the window at this HUGE dust storm. Sorta just hit me that this thing looks absurd and chaotic on the surface, but if you twist it just right, if you really LOOK at it, you start to see that all those muted, dull brown clouds that look like they’re just bleedin’ all over each other are really a full-spectrum, technicolor, kaleidoscope instead.”

Loki lifted his head, and for a few seconds he just stared, wide-eyed and silent as the grave, out the windshield. James Buchanan Barnes, former US Army Ranger, Aviator, Special Forces Operator, Purple Heart and Medal of Honor Recipient, and... _Neo-Romantic Philosopher?_

_What. Even._

_See? PERSPECTIVE._

JB had a better grasp of mid-century existentialist dread than his own goddamn editor at a _literary_ publishing house, for fuck’s sake. Blinking away the shock, Loki ran a hand through his hair. That last sentence- something about bleeding colors and kaleidoscopes -was more beautiful than anything his brain had concocted in a month at least. Maybe he should just have JB write the rest of book three in his stead. He let out a sad little laugh.

“I’m guessin’ you’re so quiet ‘cause it seems weird to ponder shit like this when you’re in a warzone,” Bucky said, grinning slightly. “But there’s alotta time for thinkin’ over there. So I got two sheaths on my belt. One for a knife. One for angsty, migraine-inducing books.”

Brow furrowing, Loki blew out a breath. “That’s wise. One can use both knives _and_ words to cut their enemies.”

“Only thing I know about knives is to stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Bucky said with a shrug.

_Alright, Arya Stark._

“Um…” Loki raised an eyebrow, “speaking as one of your level 4 classmates who has been in an _actual_ knife fight with you, you might be underestimating your skills. I think traces of my blood are _still_ on the mats.” He shook his head as his friend (of course) laughed.

“I watched you bust twenty guys’ nuts in that session before you and I went one on one with each other. If you thought I was gonna play nice, you’re outta your goddamn mind.”

Eyes rolling up to the ceiling, Loki clenched his jaw. Stars above, JB had _no_ idea.

“Consider yourself lucky that you _haven’t_ seen me out of my mind,” he said flatly, suddenly aware that Sig’s eyes were boring into the back of his skull.

He looked at her over his shoulder. Her iridescent silver star eyes didn’t waiver from his, and oh, what he wouldn’t give to be alone with her in this car- wishing he was driving and could pull this M4 off the main road and take her to cloud nine in the backseat and forget the dull, muted brown clouds hovering over them and turn it into a full-spectrum kaleidoscope of color.

* * *

**_~Next day, 3:04pm, Saturday, June 8, 2019~_ **

“It’s you and me against the girls, right?” Bucky held the volleyball net pole steady, squinting at Loki as he bent down to anchor the last rope into the sand.

Tying off the final knot, Loki swiped his hands across his swim trunks to get the excess sand off. He heard his knees say “ _THANK YOU”_ \- not _literally_ of course -as he rose from that deep squat. Grabbing his water from the cooler, he popped the lid off. He downed nearly half of it while pulling another bottle out of the ice, then shouted “ _think fast!”_ at JB and tossed it to him.

Bucky barely caught it in his left hand just in time before it whacked him in the face. “God damn, that woulda hurt. We teammates or what?”

Loki shrugged, still drinking, and set his other hand on his hip. “Yes, we are. Unless you’re tired of winning.”

“Oh I would still beat your ass,” Bucky said, waving it off. “Just thought we’d try somethin’ different for a change.”

“I don’t enjoy hurting your feelings, JB, but...” Loki sighed, returning his water to the cooler, “if we switch partners, you’ll eat sand throughout the game. Sig and I would crush you and Lewis.”

“Oh so you’re just assumin’ Sigyn wants to be on your side of the net?”

“Of course I am.”

“Why?” Bucky adjusted his sunglasses. “Just ‘cause she’s your girlfriend?”

Loki shrugged one shoulder. “More so that she wants to win, and I am clearly superior to you.”

“Huh. Alright. We’ll see. How about we ask her? Hey Sigyn!” Bucky shouted through his hands at the two women throwing a frisbee back and forth down the shore.

“Hey Bucky!” Sigyn shouted back at him. “Tell your woman she has to actually run to catch the frisbee!”

“I’m not a goddamn retriever!” Darcy yelled, grabbing the neon orange frisbee out of the water.

Sigyn threw up her hands. “Neither am I, but it doesn’t stop me from actually moving my legs to chase it down!”

“Stupid fucking game of fetch!” Darcy tossed the disk at her angrily.

“That’s it!” Sigyn jumped and caught the damn thing... _barely_...before it shot into the sea. “I’m aiming it at your head from now on!”

“You know what,” Darcy growled, stomping across the sand, “I think I might actually prefer playing volleyball with these asshats who always win just by taking turns spiking the ball on us!”

“WRONG,” Sigyn yelled, pointing a finger at her best friend, “they spike it on YOUR side. You just fucking stand there while I dive for it and eat sand every time!”

“Oh booooooo.” Darcy tapped her finger to her chin. “Here’s an idea. Stop diving for it!”

Sigyn rolled her eyes, trailing slowly behind Darcy as they walked toward the net. She glared at her so-called best friend reaching into the cooler to grab a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. This wasn’t fun. She wasn’t enjoying this trip. The four of them had come to Montauk a good five times last year, and it was always a blast, but _this_ time? Well, this time she only wanted alcohol. That was the only fun part- the wasted “I don’t care what’s about to happen on Tuesday” part.

When she got to the net, she growled quietly, pushing her sunglasses higher up her nose. The sunscreen and sweat were making them slide down over and over.

“Sorry, got distracted,” she said, forcing a smile as she looked up at Bucky who was looking back at her like he could read her thoughts.

_Such an empathetic guy- he probably IS reading them._

She wouldn’t say no if he offered her some of that good stuff _‘for PTSD’_ in his vape pen. “What did you need me for?”

Twirling the ball on the tip of his forefinger, he approached her. “Wanna be on my team this time?”

Eyes popping, Darcy spewed the drink she’d been guzzling. “Excuse you WHAT? Now I’m playing against three people? Nope. I’m done.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “One would think it was obvious that JB is asking to _switch_ partners, but once again you defy expectations, Lewis,” he droned, gathering his hair at the nape of his neck and winding an elastic around it.

“Ugh the man bun is so god damn distracting,” she said, plopping down onto her beach chair and gesturing to his hair. “I can’t think of snarky comebacks. You do this shit on purpose, Starboy.”

“He does what shit on purpose?” Sigyn raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses, fighting the juvenile urge to go over there and yank Darcy’s _girl bun_ hard enough to pull her to the ground and shove her face into the sand.

_Cool it, hon. This is your best friend, and you love her, and she loves you, and she is JOKING._

_Yeah well...I’m not okay with her calling him STARBOY. She never does that outside of the “damn he really is hot” context._

_You BOTH joke about each other’s men like that- it’s non-threatening, non-competitive goofing around._

_Today is different. Today it feels like she’s trying to take him away from me._

_You could not be more wrong about that, and you know it._

Trapped in her hypersensitive, overprotective, insecure, completely _irrational_ head, she heard an echo of her name.

“Siggy?”

And again.

“Sigyn?”

Once more, and this time, she knew the voice. She really loved that voice.

“Sig?” Loki pulled his black Ray Bans down his nose just enough to look at his girl over them. The look on her face was concerning, like she might get sick or pass out.

_No no no, not again, sweetheart._

Ducking under the net, he took two exceptionally long strides to close the space between them- about ten feet -but she got to him first. She threw her arms around his neck so hard; he nearly fell backwards. He hugged her back, shooting an apologetic look at JB. His friend nodded, clearly understanding, and pointed to the house, mouthing _“go ahead, we’re fine.”_

Loki kept one arm around her as he waved weakly at his friend, then walked back to the house with her still clinging to him.

* * *

**_~Dinner that night~_ **

“Okay but _seriously_ , I make the _best_ chicken parm,” Darcy sighed, tossing her napkin on the dining room table, and stretching her arms over her head.

Bucky nodded, humming in agreement, his cheeks full of the entree she had prepared for them.

“I gotta admit it's even better than my ma’s,” he said, his eyes popping and face reddening when he swallowed the too big bite. “Jesus. Almost choked on that.”

“That’s what she said!” Darcy and Sigyn shouted in unison, both nearly falling out of their chairs from laughing so hard.

“Yeah slap those knees harder, girls,” he managed to say while coughing into his elbow. “It’s adorable. Love how you guys are snorting like pigs at my expense.”

Sigyn spit her wine back into her glass to keep from spewing it across the table as Darcy continued giggling uncontrollably. Not that it wouldn’t have been _hilarious_ to see red wine splattered on her best friend’s face, but everything in this entire beach house was _white._ She had _no_ idea why Mrs. Frigga Odinson had chosen to go with the _one_ color that showed every piece of dirt and the slightest spills.

_Hello?-SAND GALORE._

Loki’s fingers brushed her left cheek then, pushing a few strands of her hair that were basically _drowning_ in her drink- _ew_ -behind her ear. She turned toward him, her chest tightening when that broad, knee-weakening smile spread across his face. If she wasn’t sitting down already, she’d crumple to the floor and cry an ocean’s worth of tears.

_An Atlantic-sized ocean of Sigyn Frey’s making..._

_Fuck, I miss him so goddamn much already...I can’t BREATHE._

“Oh noooooo,” Darcy made a face at them, pointing to Loki’s hand in her hair, “please don’t start this _love-me-tender_ show again. Like...I get it. I’d be mooning over this one-” she thrust her thumb toward Bucky “-if he was leaving in a few days, and I wouldn’t be able to touch him at _all_ for two months or whatever, but…”

Jaw clenching, Loki looked at her sharply, and she put a hand over her mouth. _Good_. He hardly needed to be reminded about the inevitable. Maybe it was the anger in his eyes that shut Lewis up. Or maybe she saw Sig’s bottom lip trembling. Whatever it was, he would take it.

Bucky pushed his seat back and stood up, taking Darcy’s hand and his plate. “Come on, doll. Help me with the dishes and leftovers.” She nodded, wiping her thumbs under her eyes and went with him to the kitchen.

Clearing her throat, Sigyn grabbed the wine bottle and lifted it to her mouth- _who needs a stupid crystal stem anyway?_ \- and gulped every bit of it in one go.

Face screwing up at the overly sweet taste, she twisted her entire body toward Loki as he took the empty bottle away and set it on the table again. She slumped forward to lean her forehead on his shoulder, and his arms came around her.

Her eyebrows pulled together when the next [song](https://youtu.be/Jry11x7FV30) on her best friend’s aptly named “Ear Candy” playlist streamed through the built-in sound system. Darce must have turned up the volume since leaving the table with that huge smile on her face. Sigyn sighed, not thrilled with the lyrics. Come ON, hearing some girl singing _“I got champagne for the pain, black out all the memories, running through my veins, I don’t really wanna feel anything, I’m my only enemy”_ was a bit too _on the nose_ right now. Her best friend was probably dancing in the kitchen, happy and free as a bird.

_Must be nice._

Twisting her head took up at him, she watched Loki lean toward her mouth, and she met him halfway, closing the barely-there distance between each other at the same time. Within seconds, he was running his hands up her sides, and one of her legs was between his. Chest heaving, he unbuttoned her shorts and slid his hand into them. He groaned, teeth scraping over his bottom lip as she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan. They heard Darcy’s voice from the kitchen then.

“Soooo… after we do these dumbass dishes, you should put on those dog tags and take me to pound town.”

Loki ceased his movements, his eyes slamming shut. From the other side of the wall, he and Sigyn heard JB set several dishes in the sink with more force than necessary.

“Stop making references to my dick in front of other people, or you’re _not gonna see it tonight,”_ he shouted, and Sigyn pulled back from Loki’s mouth just enough to turn and see Darcy stick her head around the doorway to the kitchen.

“Emptiest threat ever, am I right?” her best friend said, biting into a smile, then she wiggled her eyebrows at her friend. “Oooooh, am I interrupting something? _Niiiiiice_. Get it, Siggy. Don’t let your massive Manhattan man go to waste. Only 3 days!”

She disappeared behind the door again, and they heard a muffled slap (presumably on her backside) followed by a squeal and a giggle then fast footsteps going up the stairs.

Sigyn mumbled _“for fuck’s sake, Darce, really?”_ under her breath as Loki glared at the empty doorway. Pedal to the metal, his _‘on edge but mostly fine’_ mood accelerated to _‘destroy everything_ ’ in 3.5 seconds. Reminding himself to be gentle, he lifted Sigyn’s hands and leg off him, then pushed his chair back forcefully and stood up.

“Think I’ll walk down the shore,” he said tightly, heading out the back door and slamming it behind him.

Apparently, this was his breaking point. He didn’t deserve this shit. He was halfway down their long, private boardwalk that led to the water when he heard the door slam again. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Sig, since those _beyond_ aggravating lovebirds that he should _not_ have invited wouldn’t leave the guest bedroom for another hour at least. 

“Loki?” Her voice was muffled by the crashing waves and unusually strong offshore winds as his mind traveled to the memory of his girl’s pissed off voice screaming at him three nights ago...all over a job that she _did not need_ but _would not quit_ and come to Europe with him:

_“Filing a complaint makes for the dullest plot ever, I KNOW, but he left me alone after I did that!”_

_“Sig, he left you alone because he saw ME kissing you in your office, and recognized me! You left to talk to Carol about a draft, then he came in, asking if I was ‘Odinson’s boy’, and I nodded and told him to stay the hell away from you, or he might as well say goodbye to his precious TriBecArchitect &Design. THAT is why that son of a bitch won’t show his face when I’M with you!”_

_“Oh my god, you threatened to DESTROY the company I WORK AT?!”_

_“I threatened to destroy HIM, and this time it won’t just be a measly verbal THREAT.”_

_“Are you...are you talking about ASSAULTING my boss?”_

_“If by ‘assaulting’ you mean SHATTERING Tangelier’s face-”_

“ _How does that help me if you get your own ass arrested, Loki?!”_

_“So now you’re saying that you DO need MY help? A minute ago I was a shining knight boyfriend who needed to rein in the overprotective testosterone! Make up your fucking mind, woman!”_

Loki shook his head, fighting to push away words of the past as his feet pounded across the wooden boardwalk. Glowing orange and pink on the western horizon, the setting sun wasn’t bright enough to warrant wearing sunglasses, but he yanked the pair of classic black Wayfarers hanging from the collar of his thin, dark grey t-shirt and put them over his eyes nonetheless. He continued forward, bounding down the steep stairs two at a time, ignoring the sound of her footsteps on the wooden planks as she ran after him.

The clean, white sand crunched softly under his bare feet as he approached the water. He pushed his hair behind his ears, though the strong gusts continued to force the too long strands right back into his face. He would have pulled it back if he hadn’t left his damn hair tie on the bathroom sink. Eyes rolling, he slid his hands into the side pockets of his shorts. He heard her voice right behind him then.

“Loki, come on, don’t pull away from me.”

Nostrils flaring, his eyes blew wide.

_WHAT?_

Ripping the sunglasses off his face, he whirled on her and lowered his head to her level to look directly in her eyes.

_"You_ are the one pulling away from _me_ , Sig.”

She reeled back as though he’d hit her. _“Excuse me?”_

He knew she was about to cry, which meant he was about to feel like a dick. God, he was so _tired_ of this. He was so tired of walking on eggshells around her, of letting her lead, of being so goddamn submissive when what he _really_ wanted to do was tell her to either pack up her office and quit that completely unnecessary job or pack up her things from his apartment.

He saw her eyes narrow for a split second, then she turned sideways, squinting into the breeze and the setting sun. Her hair seemed to levitate behind her, exposing the curve of her jaw and neck as her face took on the same warm, orange gold hue as the fading sun. He stared at her, unable to tear his eyes away because the wind was pressing her loose, thread-bare white tank top into her front, molding it to her body like a second skin. Oh hell, if she wasn’t wearing that bathing suit underneath it, he would have an absolutely _mouth-watering_ eyeful right now. She turned to look at him again, her gaze dropping to his mouth, then his neck, his chest, his stomach, and lower, staring at his black knee-length, drawstring jersey shorts like she could see through them. Head shaking, he scoffed under his breath, and she shot him a glare at the sound.

“I have not been pulling away at _all_ , Loki. I have been running back to you as fast as I possibly can! Every step forward, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has been because I don’t want to keep letting _you_ down!” she shouted, throwing her hands up.

His jaw dropped right to the sand at his feet.

“When have I ever suggested that you were _letting me down?”_

Putting her palms over her eyes, she blew out an uneven breath. After a silent moment, she dropped her hands.

“Oh, you mean other than just _right now?”_ she asked through her teeth, pointing to the ground angrily, as though the gesture more accurately emphasized ‘ _this second’._

He opened his mouth to respond, to defend himself, but she didn’t let him.

“Do you think that I can’t tell when you’re frustrated or angry or annoyed with me? You don’t have to expressly _say_ it, Loki. All of April I was a mess, and I’m sorry, alright?”

Running both hands through his hair and leaving them at the back of his neck, he hung his head. Did she really think he was holding some ridiculous grudge against her for feeling completely _lost_ for that first month after her friend _died?_ After that cancer came flying out of left field like an EF5 tornado, leaving miles of overturned cars, shards of glass, and jagged steel frames that used to be gorgeous, glittering skyscrapers?

“Sig, I’m not angry at you for being a _mess_ after your friend died. If anyone can relate to being a mess, it’s _me,”_ he pointed to his chest. “You _know_ that.”

She shook her head. “Loki, you’re-”

“No no no, I’ve said jackshit about this for two months, so hear me out,” he spoke over her, “I didn’t tell you what to do, and I never complained about missing _us_. _You_ made that doctor’s appointment a _month ago_ , not me. No one forced you to do that. You call _all_ the shots, Sig.”

He paused to take a few deep breaths. He also needed a second to make sense of his now racing thoughts.

“How can you possibly not see that?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “After a month of misery, you get two weeks of decent sleep, and then you do a 180. From bone-chilling, winter storms to spring sunshine, all thanks to sleeping. You only needed one goddamn pill for two weeks! How wonderfully uncomplicated!”

“Are you saying you wish I had needed more meds, and for longer?” Her eyes started to water, and she held up a hand before he could respond. “Because that’s what it sounds like. Sounds like my quick turnaround is in opposition to your personal experience, and isn't giving your _tricky brain_ the emotional validation it n-”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence,” he said tightly, counting his breaths to contain the anger trying to rise his chest and spill out of his mouth in the _worst_ way.

She pressed her lips together, wishing she could turn back time. Ten minutes ago, they’d been well on their way to sex, but here they were instead. Fighting. Maybe this would end in sex too. Maybe this was what it meant to be a “fight and fuck” couple. She was not a fan. At _all_.

_I only have three days left with him, and THIS shit is what we’re doing with our time._

“Loki, this isn’t how I want to say goodbye,” she said, voice shaking.

“You wouldn’t have to say goodbye to me if you could just say goodbye to that job-” he held up a hand “-and do _NOT_ go off on me for _‘throwing my bank account in your face’_ which I have heard some version of many times, and every time you say it, it’s infuriating because that is _not_ what I’m doing!”

_Calm. Down._

He inhaled sharply through his nose, the brisk wind burning his sinuses and making his eyes water. Hands flexing, he exhaled, and started again. He had every intention of checking his tone at the door. He really did.

_“SO WHAT_ if I want to help or take care of you or just give you nice things that you don’t need because I want you to have everything you want whether it’s essential or not?!”

_Off to a GREAT start-_

“Dammit, Sig, I offer to take care of rent for a bit so you can quit working at that _specific_ job with that boss who you _should press charges against_ and find a new better job like _you say you want to,_ and you fly off on me! I am not trying to take away your independence! I do not think of you as my property! I'm not trying to buy your love or trick you into depending on me like some 1950s housewife! And I sure as hell am not one of those _‘shut up and make me a sandwich’_ twats, so stop acting like I am! I swear to _everything_ , you act like I have some evil plan to make you quit your job, then knock you up, then _lock_ you up in some picket fence prison in suburbia!”

He couldn’t contain it. This _awful_ energy had been brewing under his skin for too long. This was what he got for trying to control every single pathetically flawed, head in the clouds, worthless, traumatized cell in the clusterfuck inside his skull. He was blowing up at his girl _for no reason._ She did not deserve this. At all. He knew that. But he was doing it anyway.

“You keep flipping switches, and I can’t keep up!” Gritting his teeth, he pointed to his head. “And I am the _God of Flipping Switches!”_

_YEAH, CLEARLY_.

He pushed his hair behind his ears over and over and _over_ because the damn wind just would not let up, and as his hand made a pass in front of his eyes for the tenth time, he saw his hair tie _wrapped around his wrist._ So...it wasn’t on the bathroom counter. It was with him this whole time.

_ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!_

Ripping the thing off his wrist, he gathered every last strand into a haphazard bun at the nape of his neck and wound the elastic around it as more words continued to fly out of his mouth.

“I’m _glad_ you seem to be in the _best mood of your life,_ Sig, because it sure as hell beats feeling like our world has gone up in flames, but bloody hell if I have to...” he stopped, growling as his train of thought derailed.

He wanted to hear a crash, an explosion, a boom of deafening thunder- anything loud enough to drown out the pack of wolves snarling at him. God the sound was horrendous. It was terrifying. And it was _his own voice._

_Oh my god, I sound like my FATHER._

He ought to have his _not-so-silver_ tongue cut out as punishment for it. Without giving it a second thought, he yanked his sunglasses off the top of his head, reeled back on one leg and hurled them at the neighbor’s house because it was closer than his. They shot through the air like a bullet and, _EXTREMELY unexpectedly,_ crashed _right through_ a glass table on their deck as though his iconic shades had the force of a World Series MVP arm behind them. Sigyn’s shriek was as loud as the crash itself.

“Jesus, Loki! You’re _scaring_ the hell out of me right n-”

“Goddamn right, you _SHOULD_ be scared of me!” 

_THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING, LO?!_

Her responding flinch was _violent_ as her hands flew up to cover her mouth, and he knew that was the _exact_ moment he should drop to his knees and apologize until he was blue in the face. Had he just told her that she _should be SCARED of him?!_ What was this, his own damn villain origin story?! Eyes blowing wide, he held his hands up as if in surrender.

“I did _not_ mean that…” he swallowed, shaking from the adrenaline, from the norepinephrine, from the testosterone, from a cocktail of hellish over-stimulating chemicals that seemed to think some hungry lion was ten feet from him instead of a picturesque beach and a gorgeous girl who loved him infinitely more than he deserved.

“Sig, oh my god, sweetheart, I am so unbelievably sorry. That was an absolutely _unforgivable_ thing to say to you. I don’t even…” he trailed off, hanging his head so he wouldn’t have to see the damage.

He rubbed his temples for twenty seconds or so before looking up at her again. Her lips were trembling, and the pained look in her eyes made him want to throw up. It made him want to turn on his heel and run away like an absolute coward. It also made him want to run straight to her, wrap his arms around her, pick her up, and carry her with him everywhere. He opened his mouth to say more, but she spoke first.

“Thank you for apologizing,” she blew out a breath. “I would be out of here otherwise.”

“And you would be right to go,” he swallowed again, even more nervous now.

_But oh dear god please DON’T._

She went up onto her toes, trying to see over the tall grass on the dunes. “For heaven’s sake, how hard does one have to throw a pair of glasses that weigh maybe a tenth of a pound for them to go through a _table?_ I’d be in critical condition if you’d thrown them at me.”

His jaw nearly unhinged at the suggestion. “I would never ever ever _ever-”_

“I wasn’t saying you would. I know you wouldn’t do that,” she waved her hand then pulled it down her face. “If you managed to not knock out Amora’s lights, _I_ have nothing to worry about.”

_What do kids these days say? FACTS._

“Can we _not_ yell, and also please set aside the whole money thing because that is a side issue that I do _not_ want to get into.” She ran both hands through her hair.

He nodded several times and licked his lips. “Yes. And just so you know, sweetheart, that’s not a side issue. It’s a _NON-issue_.”

_Must be nice to not have any money worries, LO._

_Shut. Up._

She sighed slowly. “You are being so _unfair_ to me. Telling me that I ought to go to this huge length, to uproot my career and fly to Europe to make those eight weeks easier to bear? You didn’t _have_ to sign that damn contract! Why won’t _you_ just fucking _quit?_ You don’t need HC if you would just self-publish!”

His instinct was to lunge ten steps forward, leaving no space between them, then grab her chin, and force her to look up at him while he explained why that was unfair to _him_ actually. But after that _atrocious_ blow up, charging at her and grabbing her would be positively _idiotic,_ so he approached her carefully instead, giving her every opportunity to move away if she so chose. To his unfathomable relief, she didn’t move an inch. She stayed right where she was, even allowing him to come toe to toe with her. He took a deep breath, then released it slowly.

“Do you know the ends and outs of publishing? Of how book deals work? You do. I know you do. I agreed to three books in my contract, each of which requires promotional work.” He paused to take another deep breath lest he allow his _unpleasant_ emotions erupt again. “I wish I hadn’t signed that dotted line, but I did. You are correct that I _don’t need_ HarperCollins to publish my work. However, I also _don’t need_ a lawsuit on my hands for breach of contract.”

She stared up at him silently, the crease between her eyebrows deepening a little. He waited a few beats, surprised she had nothing to say in response, but she only continued looking at him. Shaking his head, he dropped his arms, and slid his hands in his pockets. 

Waves crashed behind him, filling the silence between them. The water rushed up the beach, soaking his feet and pulling the ground out from underneath him as the wind blew wisps of hair across her beautiful face. He kept his eyes on hers as she inched toward him, and he couldn’t help but slide his hand up into her hair. She just responded _too well_ to the hair thing for him to _not_ do it. Her fingers curved over the crook of his elbow, moving up his forearm to graze his fingers as he threaded them through her hair. She stroked the veins along the sensitive inside of his wrist with her thumb, her gaze moving down to his mouth. His chest rose and fell faster as she wrapped her other arm around his waist and pressed into him.

Eyebrows pulling together, he clenched his jaw, pissed that he couldn't break this back and forth cycle of _her_ making. She made him feel weak as hell. He wanted to stay angry at her because it would make everything about Tuesday so much easier. It would make everything _every_ day easier.

_Oh hell, but just LOOK at this Helen of Troy..._

"Must you lick your lips like that?" He'd meant to keep that question to himself, but keeping his wits about him was impossible right now. His senses were far too heightened, and he was far too desperate for this destructive siren to pull him into her- to bite his fingertips and trap his hips on sky high star trips.

_And in the process, drown my last of a thousand ships._

Doubtless this would lead to anything but a cold shower, but apparently his body needed a hit of whatever he could get his hands on. Lower potency is better than nothing if it saves you from the hell of withdrawals. She opened her mouth as he leaned down to her face, the tip of her tongue grazing the underside of his as his grip on the back of her neck tightened to keep her in place. She hissed softly, perhaps because his grip was a bit too tight, but if he didn’t hold her still, she might take her lips away, and that was _all he had._

_Hello, my name is Loki, and I'll drown a thousand times more for this girl because, oh GOD, she's worth it._

They separated, just enough to get a proper breath. He moved to kiss her again, but just as his lips touched hers, she released a shaky, all too vulnerable breath. Eyebrows knitting together, he opened his eyes. The absurd _fear_ of not feeling her mouth on his was overtaken by what was indeed his need to be the _smartest in the room_. He needed to know why she was pulling away over and over and _over_. He needed to know. _Needed_ to know. No option. He leaned back just enough to see her face and blew out a breath.

“Would you please come with me? I’m not asking you to quit your _career._ Just _that_ job.”

She frowned up at him, dropping her hands from his waist and wrist. He let go of her neck, considering _very carefully_ the next words out of his mouth.

“Ignoring the glasses through table debacle-” he cleared his throat “-I’m not juvenile, nor am I entitled. I am just so _confused_ right now, and that is pissing me off as much as having to leave. Do you think you _deserve_ to be overworked, underpaid, and sexually harassed? Is that why you won’t resign?”

She gave him a look. Was he serious? Did he think that little of her? That she was choosing to self-flagellate because she thought she didn’t deserve anything better?

_My boyfriend is NOT this idiotic._

“Is that a _real_ question?”

“Yes, actually!” He threw his hands up. There it was- the flip of the switch. “That’s how goddamn screwed up _your_ decision is- so screwed up that _I_ can’t find the method in your madness! Of _all_ people, _I_ ought to understand and read emotions like an _open book._ I’m not some mouth-breathing caveman incapable of relating to the woman in his life, yet here I am, feeling exactly like one.”

Shaking her head, she put a hand over her mouth, blinking back tears. After a good ten seconds, she moved her hand up to her eyes, letting out several small gut-wrenching gasps that made him want to pick her up and just _hold_ her, but he couldn’t because she was backing away from him again, and what if that meant she needed space? What if his arms felt like a cage to her?

“Loki, I don’t even…shit...you are looking at this the _wrong way_. Just flip it around. Don’t look at me kissing you _until I can’t breathe_ but not following you to the ends of the earth without a thought as me-” she held up her fingers to make air quotes “- _’pulling away from you’_. Look at it compared to _where I was two months ago.”_

Jaw tightening, he looked sideways.

_You are not serious, Sig._

He already _had_ ‘flipped it around’ a thousand times! Trying to view things from her angle was exactly what he had been doing incessantly for a month, and it _did not make sense!_ Was she honestly telling him _‘look at the glass as half full, not half empty’?_ Thanks, but no. Certainly neither _Starboy_ nor _Sunlight_ were written by a goddamn _optimist_. Eyes closing, he sighed.

“Let me try that again,” she said, sniffing a little then rubbing her nose and under her eyes, “because that sounded like some bullshit _‘be content with what you have_ ’ answer, and I would be so pissed if our situations were reversed, and _you_ said that to _me.”_

He raised an eyebrow. Alright then, Sigyn Frey, Architect Extraordinaire and Powerful Reader of Loki Odinson’s Mind. His girl knew him almost _too_ well. That, or they were the same person in different bodies.

She took a deep breath. “I went to a doctor that I didn’t know, which was so scary for _me_ , because I wanted to get better for _you_ , Loki. I took that medication for _you_. I knew how brutal it was for _you_ to see me like that, so I pushed myself to get it together as fast as possible...for _you._ It wasn’t some misplaced sense of _obligation_ to someone who’s taking care of me. It’s not _reciprocity._ It’s just because, even during this sleepless walking dead phase, I always was and still am so goddamn _mad_ for you.”

Her words, that last sentence in particular, were a broken record- _I am so goddamn mad for you. I am so goddamn mad for you. I am so goddamn mad for you -_ in his head. A beautiful, broken record that he hoped never righted itself. God, things were getting _real_ now, weren’t they. This wasn’t supposed to be a gut-wrenching conversation. He wasn’t supposed to need another dollar for the jar. 

She rubbed her eyes again. “Maybe _my_ version of _‘fast as possible’_ looks like slow motion to you. My best sprint is _nothing_ compared to what your phenomenal never-miss-leg-day body can do when you lace up those Nikes, but I swear I’m giving everything I’ve got. I'm running on fumes, but I am _still_ running, and it’s for one reason. I’m willing to push through the pain, to keep lifting my exhausted, heavy as lead legs, for _one_ reason.”

Oh god, he was going to make his lip bleed from chewing it this hard. Surely his ribs were shrinking and squeezing his lungs because he couldn’t seem to get a breath. _One reason,_ she’d said. He would ask what it was if his voice wasn’t completely useless right now.

_Don’t make me ask. Just tell me._

She answered his unspoken question.

“It’s because I see you at the finish line,” she gave him a half-hearted smile, and shrugged her shoulders.

_Fucking. Hell._

His gaze had been locked with hers for several minutes already, but now? Now he actually _could not see_ anything but her. Tunnel vision in its most literal sense, everything in his periphery faded to black because _nothing else in the universe mattered_. This thing beating in his chest was out of control, pumping blood faster than new Nikes pounding the cold pavement up Greene Street, hooking a left at Spring and again on West Broad and skidding to a halt when the only thing that mattered slammed right into him.

“Then don’t you dare stop running, fast girl,” he said, trudging through _miles_ of wet sand to get back to her, and pulling her into him the second she was within reach.

“I wish I were you,” she whispered into his neck as she tugged him down by his shoulders.

“What?” he frowned, squeezing her waist just shy of boa constrictor levels. “Jesus Christ, no you _don’t_ , Sig.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want, Loki!” she growled, struggling in his hold until he begrudgingly released her. 

This conversation was supposed to be over. This was the hugging part. The ‘go back to the house and sleep it off’ part. Apparently not. She was looking at him as though she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to throw something _at_ him or throw her body _on_ him. Well if there were options, he’d prefer the latter please. Of course she _didn’t_ give him that pleasure, only flinging her hands up in frustration, then she narrowed her eyes at him and tapped her temple.

“You’ve dealt with all this head crap over and over for almost three damn decades but _you_ keep going! Give me some pointers here! You were hungover and freezing your ass off. It was drizzling and dreadfully dreary, and the streets were disturbingly empty save for leftover confetti and discarded, dead Christmas trees that had more life left in them than you did, but you _kept_ running!”

_She’s quoting my book- my girl is quoting my book VERBATIM to my face._

Annoyance?- _GONE_. Replaced with _ridiculous_ meme hearts circling around his head. Every infinitely _insane_ cell in his body was going to explode into a million glittery gold pieces of new year confetti, and if he ever floated back to the ground, _his Sig_ would be there to sweep him up and put all his parts back together. What had he been upset about a few minutes ago? He’d yelled at her and thrown his glasses, but he truly couldn’t even remember _why_ now. He breathed faster, his fingers digging into his palms at his sides.

“You turned that corner and slammed into me at the exact second _I needed you,”_ she continued.

_Stop reading my thoughts, perfect girl. It’s a dangerous game._

The rising river in her eyes looked like it would break the dam any second as her words flowed over him like perfect Montauk summer waves.

“I _hate_ admitting it because I have disappointed the feminist in me to no end by being such a _needy_ girl, such a helpless _princess_ , but…” she let out a shaky breath, “Loki...god...do you seriously think _you’re_ the only one who needed someone to swoop in and take away the too heavy chain you think _you_ linked together and hung around your own damn neck because you’re fucked up enough to think you _deserve_ to be crushed by the weight of it?”

Lips trembling, she took several steps back and shook her head, then she grit her teeth and answered her own question. _Loudly_.

“ _NO!_ I needed that too! _I_ needed to collide with _you!”_ She pointed to her chest. “ _I_ needed my heel to catch on the crack in that uneven pavement. _I_ needed to almost fall backwards onto those cafe steps so _I_ would have an excuse to grab your _stupid_ _perfect_ arms and fall into you instead! I know I don’t have a diagnosable debilitating mood disorder, but that didn’t mean I had my shit together! I swear to god I was just a one woman act faking my way through a 9 to 5 with a smile plastered on my face because big _girls_ aren’t allowed to cry either!! Know why? Because all these jokers in this rat race to that top corner office rigged _everything_ in their favor!”

He watched her take in a ragged breath, putting both hands over her eyes and keeping them there as her chest heaved. He needed to wrap his arms around her. Now. Please. _Please_. Why did she have to pull away again? Did she think that he wanted to get his hands on her so she would stop yelling? Stop venting? Did she think he would shush her? Not at all! She said she needed to fall into him on New Years 2017. _Obviously_ that hadn’t changed.

_So come back and fall into my STUPID PERFECT ARMS and KEEP YELLING, love!_

He took a step toward her, but stopped abruptly when she started shouting again.

“They’ll spew all this motivational crap about how all it takes is staying in school and hard work and you too can achieve anything you put your mind to and oh sure you can have it all! Yeah, but only if you’re a fucking psychopath who doesn’t care who they have to step on to get there! And since I wasn’t one of those _monsters_ , it didn’t matter how hard I worked! I was still a _nobody_ that nobody except my mum and dad gave two fucks about with nothing but memories of ex-boyfriends who tossed me aside the second something with bigger tits and fewer _loud_ opinions came along and stacks of unpaid bills on dirty piles of laundry in my shoebox apartment!”

_Bring on those LOUD opinions, smart girl. I can take it._

“And it didn’t matter that I actually had so much _more_ than that in reality- I had a best friend who would _die_ for me, I was healthy and wasn’t drowning in medical debt over something I had no control over, I actually _could_ pay all my bills despite my whining about not having more in my account at the end of the month, I _loved_ my shoebox, and oh my god I _loved_ this city that I wasn’t from but I changed that on my own and then it _was_ my home and I never wanted to leave! Like, _this is it-”_ she looked up at the clouds, her arms wide as she spun in a somewhat clumsy circle- “I found _my place!_ I might as well tattoo ‘I heart NY’ on my forehead at this point because that’s how much I love this absurd place!”

She dropped her hands, but continued staring at the clouds. “But none of that good stuff mattered. It just kept _hiding_ behind all these angry dark clouds that wouldn’t stop building and building and _building.”_

Fuck, he knew _exactly_ what she meant. He took another step toward her, but she stepped back again, and he grit his teeth. Was this magnetic girl repelled by him because they were _too alike?_ She wasn’t supposed to be moving _away_ from him!

_Christ, sweetheart, let me HOLD YOU._

He tried another step, and this time she walked several paces toward him, and everything was _right_ for a few seconds because _thank god_ he was going to get what he wanted- she was going to let him hold her. But she stopped a few feet before she reached him, and that _was not acceptable._

“Sig,” he huffed out a breath, jaw clenching, “come here.”

She didn’t. “Loki, don’t you get it? I only looked sunny and bright and smiley that day because I was _looking at YOU!”_

She flung her hand out toward him, then leaned her head back and shouted at the clouds through cupped hands.

“Hello, Forever Dream Boy! I don’t know this guy from Adam, but _I AM GONNA, OR I’LL DIE TRYING._ Grey skies, be gone! Winter?-what’s that?-never heard of it! Just look at him, Sigyn! Fit as hell and smart and clever and tall with amazing hair and-” her wild eyes left the clouds and found his “-for the love...maybe best of all _you looked at me like I was worth looking at!”_

He gaped, looking her up and down.

“Worth looking at?” he repeated, starting toward her again. “Good lord, woman, have you _SEEN_ yourself?!”

“Don't interrupt me!” she shot back, pointing in the general direction of the neighbors’ house. “You had your little blow up back there, now _I’m_ getting _mine!”_

Loki swallowed, eyebrows pulling together from the ache in his chest. He was just trying to tell her she was gorgeous for pity’s sake.

“I felt like _shit_ that day!” she shouted, pointing to her chest and moving forward a bit, “I was just as hungover as you! Maybe even worse! _Stars above,_ I drank myself practically into a _coma_ the night before because 2016 felt like a disaster of epic proportions!”

He blinked mutely, watching her abruptly bend down to pick up shells and seaweed then shriek like an _extremely_ pissed off Sharapova while flinging them at the waves.

_Is she stamping her foot? She is. She is 31 and screaming and stamping her foot and kicking up sand. OF COURSE this is the woman of my dreams._

“My _disgusting_ boss wouldn’t stop harassing me at work all year-” more grunts, more flying seaweed “-and I didn’t know who to tell or if I was just overreacting, and what if he fired me for telling, or what if no one believed me, or or or...god it never stopped! I hadn’t dated anyone for two years. Two. Years. _TWO-”_ she held up two fingers high over her head _“-TWO YEARS!_ My _GOD_ , the only sex I had in one 24-month period was a string of inconsistent, unsatisfying, _better-make-em-wear-two-condoms_ hookups that would make _Tinder itself_ grab a bell and ring it at me while droning SHAME SHAME SHAME!”

Game of Thrones reference for the win.

_Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god marry me, you insane unicorn of a girl._

“And why didn’t a decent chap want me? The hell if I know! I just know it made me feel like a _dog_. And not a cute one! But that doesn’t even work because all dogs are the _CUTEST_. So no, I didn’t feel like a dog. What’s an ugly animal-” she snapped several times, squinting at the sky, then threw her hands up when it came to her.

“ _OH!_ An _armadillo!_ Disgusting roadkill that even some cousin-kissing Appalachian hillbilly wouldn’t want!”

She screamed, dropping a clump of seaweed then jumped away as a crab skittered away from the clump. Then she swiped her hair out of her face, growling at the creature as it disappeared into a hole in the sand, and kicked the same bunch of seaweed, checking for more creepy crawlers. Finding none, she swiped them up again and resumed throwing the stuff as far offshore as possible.

“And ugh oh my god poor Carol had to listen to me bitch and moan about wishing that after dirty dancing and drinks and dinner I wouldn’t dig a divinely delectable deep dicking for dessert-”

Loki’s eyebrows shot to his hairline as his supposedly “grade A talented” brain attempted to process what the _fuck_ those words were that had just dropped from his girl’s mouth harder than a Travis Scott hook. _Dig a divinely delectable...deep... dicking...for dessert?_ That was...uh...seriously hardcore...

... _alliteration_. 

Teeth digging into his bottom lip, he groaned quietly, refocusing his attention on her as she continued shouting and throwing seaweed. It was extremely hard to focus on listening to her rather than just stare at her mouth like some slack-jawed heathen now that a highly graphic image of _dessert_ was spinning around in his head. Difficult as it was though, he managed to get beyond Neanderthal mode quickly, and every new word from her mouth only confirmed what he already knew-

_This girl is my endgame. No option._

“-and I asked her why couldn’t I be bi like her, and was there such a thing as reverse conversion therapy, and she said ‘that’s not funny’ and I cried and cried and _CRIED_ because every man on the planet was the _worst,_ but for some god-awful reason I still wanted one of them to put me on some pedestal and tell me I was gorgeous-”

_Oh my GOD I have told her she is gorgeous THOUSANDS OF TIMES! How many times do I have to say it before she’ll believe me?! Does she think I’m lying through my teeth?!_

“-and then one of my old school friends gets married over Christmas, and I was stuck being a bridesmaid for the third time _just that year,_ and I had to do it in a hideous mauve dress that’s still in my stupid _tiny_ closet because it cost a thousand pounds that _I had to pay for,_ despite the fact that rent was coming up, and all that was coiling in my gut while knowing that I didn’t have someone to kiss at midnight!” She shrieked again, looking all around her feet for more things to throw, and stomping her foot when she realized she’d chucked the last available piece of seaweed in the immediate area.

“Where did it all go?! Ahhh there’s some!” She stomped toward another clump of scraggly stuff about ten yards away.

He sighed. He’d heard the dreaded New Years Eve 2016 story many times, and it hurt every time because it was just as shitty as his. Maybe one day neither of them would give a fuck about it. Maybe it wouldn’t keep popping up to kick them in their guts for years and years. _Maybe_. Shaking his head, he looked up, keeping his eyes on the clouds while he followed the sounds of her soft footsteps and little annoyed grunts. He was practically on her heels, but with his eyes up, he didn’t realize how close they were until she stopped to bend over, and his crotch collided with her backside at the _worst angle possible_. She didn’t seem to give a damn, since she just mumbled “my bad” and moved out of his way while his eyes popped out of his skull, his jaw unhinging as he doubled over, setting his hands on his knees and trying to breathe through the pain.

She threw her next plant victim into the sea and looked back at him. “You know what this makes me think of?”

Exhaling slowly through his mouth, he carefully stood up to his full height again. He managed to produce sounds with his mouth in response, though they were probably so raspy that she wouldn’t hear them.

“What does _what_ make you think of?”

She pointed to his crotch. “That!”

Squinting at her, he tilted his head. “What?”

She flung her hands up. “Your balls, genius!”

_GENIUS?? Oh the DISRESPECT._

Jaw clenching, he looked down at himself, then back up at her. “What, that they just took a good walloping from your ass slamming into them?!”

“Um first, _you_ knocked into _me!_ And second-” she snapped several times and pointed in all directions “-follow the connection! Balls equal _MEN!”_

“Okay…” he looked sideways. Balls. Men. Got it. Point being?

“Every single problem I had was because of men!”

He shot her a look, stepping carefully toward her because the _problematic_ things in his oh so offensive _male_ body were not ready to just _skip_ right up to her. 

“For god’s sake, Loki,” she rolled her eyes, leaning down to grab yet another huge chunk of seaweed, “I mean just ‘men’ generally speaking, not _you_ , so don’t get your goddamn knickers which you _clearly are not wearing_ in a twist. No, all that year I was constantly thinking ‘holy shit, am I irrelevant because I’m only two years from thirty and no MEN want someone older than 25 and oh my god _WHY DOES MY ENTIRE WORTH DEPEND ON WHETHER OR NOT SOME DISNEY PRINCE IS WILLING TO SLAY A DRAGON FOR ME?!’_ and-”

“No no no no hold up,” he cut in, reaching out to yank the seaweed from her hand before she could throw it at him for interrupting, “I know this isn’t about _me_. I know you need to get some things off your chest. Fine. Good. You _should_ be doing _this-_ ” he gestured to the scraggly stuff in his hand “-but I might forget this part about princes and dragons by the end of your rant, and this is important for _me_ to say. I have heard _Prince_ Lo hundreds of times-”

“And you hate it!” She shouted over the increasingly loud wind roaring around them, trying to yank her stolen seaweed back from his hands. “I know that, and I don’t call you that!”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” he yelled even louder, his chest heaving. For the love- he couldn’t _believe_ he was having a tug of war with her over this scratchy piece of ugly brown algae!

“Then what is the point?!”

She huffed loudly when he finally won, yanking his hands away with a snarl and throwing the seaweed as hard as his sunglasses, sending it so far across the waves they couldn’t see where it landed. He whirled on her, bending down to get in her face, and answered her question, keeping his voice low and deep since they were nearly nose to nose now.

“I actually _am_ your goddamn prince, _that’s_ my point.”

Eyes blowing wide, she leaned back to see him better. “Wha…?”

He caught her with one arm before she tripped backward from leaning back so far. Maybe she was going to slap him there for a second, he wasn’t sure what that look in her eyes was. It was a _dark_ look for sure, though after another second he was fairly sure ‘dark’ wasn’t anger. It had a bit more of a _‘take me to bed NOW’_ energy about it. He took a breath- _fuck, that look is hot_ -trying to gather himself since apparently his balls were miraculously healed now. _Ridiculous_.

_“But-”_ he held up the forefinger of his free hand “-I am not a _hero_. I am not here to slay any dragons for you.”

Her eyes lost that dark quality in an instant, switching to a shade he’d only seen on _puppies_ , for hell’s sake. Did she- did she look... _hurt?_ This fiery tough as nails _fighter_ was sad that he wasn’t here to _rescue_ her? No no no no, that wasn’t right. That look wasn’t sadness. It was _exhaustion_. She was tired. Tired of slaying dragons on her own.

_Good thing that is precisely why I AM here, sweetheart_.

“Sig, I can’t do that for you. What I can do- what I am _trying_ to do -is give you a _lift_. I bend down a bit, you stand on my shoulders, then _you_ climb up on _top_ of one of those dragons, and enjoy the ride of your life because you only get _one_. Fly sky high, burn through every enemy, every jagoff who wants to use you and abuse you, every demon in your head lying to you, telling you that you aren’t good enough, that you don’t deserve good things, that you are hopelessly flawed, that you aren’t the most gorgeous creature in the universe, that you are weak and _done._ Burn all of it, Sig.”

Her mouth fell open, and her chest stopped moving. Her eyes seemed stuck in their wide open, watery position. The only sign of life was the pulse in her neck, and her fingers gripping his arms with more force.

“And when the liars send their friends in to hunt you down, you burn them too. You asked for pointers, sweetheart. Well, there you go. Burn them. That’s what I do.”

Words slithered through his mind then, pushing through the chaos, through the disaster movie that was his own life…the life of an over-privileged Starboy and his gorgeous, forever Sunlight Girl...

_We downed four cocktails, then trashed Bloomingdales._   
_Stole their holy grails, and mocked their epic wails._   
_"But it's so UPSCALE!" Who cares? It's overpriced retail!_   
_Anarchist threats unveiled; now arrested and jailed._   
_"Ha! See? You FAILED!" Worth it, save for the air so stale._   
_God, get us out of this No Exit hell before closing bell!_   
_Come ON, gorgeous. Break bail, hightail!_   
_Inhale, exhale…black nails under my shirttail._   
_We jump the guardrail and leave no trail._   
_Oh, FORGET detail. It was JUST RETAIL!_   
_Twisted hearts aren't for sale, and mad love is NEVER frail._   
_Just wind in our sails, laughing through endless fails._   
_Saying "fuck your fairytales!" even as it all derails._   
_That's hard as dragon scales._

Gritting his teeth behind closed lips, he groaned quietly in frustration. Once again, he inconveniently did not have anything with him to write that down on.

_Christ...PLEASE don’t forget those words!_

Sigyn blinked lazily, as though she’d just destroyed a bottle of wine.

_You did destroy a bottle of wine, hon._

She swallowed, damn near ready to slide her hand down the front of his jersey shorts and make him pant and moan until the moment he realized he was about to come and instead would shove her to the ground and fuck her blind. Damn right, he was her prince. He was her _everything_ , and he was ready to help her destroy everything that tried to hurt her.

_Oh GOD, I need him inside me NOW._

She chose to finish her previous strand of thoughts instead.

“Then a few hours after _stupid_ 12:00 am 2017, this man nearly runs me over. He’s cooler and _hotter_ than James Dean himself, and turns out he is that author that everyone kept going on and on about but I’d never bothered to look at a picture of him, and oh my god I get to touch this guy, and he _lets_ me do it for longer than is _socially acceptable,_ and he talks to me, and actually _listens_ to me, and I have this intense moment of _‘bloody hell I think this STUNNER might be into me!’_ and _‘WHEN CAN I SEE HIM AGAIN?!’_ and all that other shit…” her voice broke, and she wheezed quietly, dropping to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest.

“It all just…” she tried again, sniffing as she dragged the back of her hand over her eyes, “all that other shit just faded to black. I swear you have no idea how bright your own goddamn smile is. Best. Teeth. Ever.”

His stomach hurt, aching from taking a thousand emotional punches from her pained voice, and he sat down in front of her.

“You know,” he started, reaching up to lift her chin with the tip of his finger, “I wrote _Sunlight_ for you, but honestly, sweetheart…” he paused, lips pursing as he nodded to himself, “I think _Starboy_ is _about_ you.”

Her cheeks flushed such a _pretty_ dark red, and she lowered her eyes.

“That is...that is an _epic_ compliment...my god I can’t even,” she dropped her forehead to her knees, then released a heavy breath and lifted her head again. “He’s flawed as hell.”

Loki nodded. “That he is. Perhaps tragically so.”

“Yet everyone is absolutely mad for him.”

He tilted his head, giving her a pointed look. “Imagine that.”

“I don’t know how to answer the original _‘then what is your problem’_ question that you asked before I burdened you with my crappy 2016 story for the thousandth time-”

“Which I will listen to a thousand more times if you need me to,” he cut in, flashing her a crooked smile.

Head shaking, she let out a small laugh. “You are unreal. Sometimes I question if you are the same species as all these other idiot men.”

_Smartest in the room again, thank god._

He shrugged one shoulder. “Well, there are no men like me, so I understand the confusion.”

She beamed, showing off those perfect pearly whites.

_Look at this sunlight girl._

_How the hell am I supposed to get through two months without her?_

Her smile faded, and his eyes followed the downward curve of her lips. Maybe she was wondering the same thing. She looked sideways for a moment then returned her somewhat hazy gaze to him.

“I think...I think I just feel so _guilty_ when we...make...love…” she cringed “...ugh I hate that flowery term, but in this case it’s kind of accurate, isn’t it.”

_Very much so._

“Thing is, you feel so _good_ and... dammit... I sound insane,” she said, covering her face.

Eyes widening, his mouth fell open. The last two months were piecing themselves together now. Feeling like dying. Wanting to die, but wanting to live because you can’t come back if you pull that trigger, and what if it was going to get better? What if you pulled the plug too soon? You _must_ live. You have this _one_ shot at it. But what is _living?_ Does just breathing count? Just breathing isn’t good enough, is it. Feeling good- feeling _amazing_ -even if only for a little while, _that’s_ what keeps those lungs going. Right? Lungs want to breathe good, healthy, clean air- not _smoke_. Otherwise those lungs stop working. 

_Oh...oh no._

Thoughts, words, emotions, stories, experiences, good, bad, ugly- all broken glass shards that picked themselves up and went back into the forge, reminding the glassblower to not drop them after they came out of the fire and cooled off this time around. They could only handle getting burned so many times before they just gave up and stayed broken. He leaned forward and slid his arms under hers, and she let him pull her against him.

_Dying stars, this hurts..._

“Because when we do that,” he said, “you’re _really_ moving on. You’re alive and in love and your fully functioning, young, healthy body is physically experiencing that love. You’re _too_ happy with me. You’re not devastated for Tony, and you feel like he deserves more than a couple months of mourning. Is that what you mean?”

Looking at him through her fingers as though she knew the jump scare in the movie was coming, she nodded, then hesitantly set her hands on his arms.

“He’s still _dead_ ,” she croaked, unconsciously twisting the cotton fabric covering his shoulders as he leaned his forehead against hers

“And I’ll still be here when you’re not sad to be happy again, sweetheart.” He meant it. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Her eyes popped suddenly. It was as though she had only just realized it.

“Except you won’t be. You’ll be in Europe. For two months. I only have three days with you,” she said, choking on the words. “Three days. Three. Days. Oh my god.”

He chewed his lip quietly for a moment as she gaped at him.

“I know,” he mumbled, nodding resolutely, “but Sig, we’ll-”

He stopped short of saying _‘be okay’_ because it was one of those phrases that he despised. People only said it to try to short circuit fear or pain or any other number of deeply unpleasant emotions. Rarely did they mean it, or _believe_ it, and he was a stickler when it came to words. If he lied, it was calculated and _convincing_ , and he wasn’t prepared to lie right now.

“FaceTime,” he said finally, clearing his throat, “we’ll Facetime.”

“A lot,” she agreed, pushing his hair behind his ears, “and text and call.”

They silently stared at each other for a minute, maybe two. He couldn’t precisely say how long, since time tended to move at strange intervals with her. She threaded her fingers into his tied back hair as one of those tears in her eyes fell. He wiped it away with his thumb, and she just...sort of...fell into him...as though she was collapsing under her own weight.

He dragged her closer, pulling her into his lap and whispering _“I’ve got you”_ into her hair as she wrapped her legs around his waist and cried into his neck. She could collapse into him all she needed, but he wouldn’t let this star girl collapse into herself.

[ _“Oops (I’m Sorry)” by Lost Kings ft. Ty Dolla $ign and GASHI (chapter song)_ ](https://youtu.be/o6VMp6ZXSQc)

* * *

End Notes:

  1. Totally random aside- in the previous chapter, Bucky mentioned getting his “aviators” (sunglasses) at “flight school” many years ago, and Darcy called him her “flyboy”, which subtly hinted that he was a helicopter pilot in Army Aviation. (I don’t give the specifics of which type of helicopter he flew because it doesn’t really matter within this story, but I envisioned him flying the now-retired OH-58 KIOWA. *shrugs*)
  2. Bucky is of course referring to September 11, 2001 when he says he saw “those planes hit” from Prospect Park but Loki was only five blocks from the “Twin Towers”. And that’s all I’ll say about that reference because I’ll start f**king SOBBING if I elaborate.
  3. Bucky and Loki take the same advanced Krav Maga class, thus the “knife fight” reference.
  4. Bucky quipped “Only thing I know about knives is to stick ‘em with the pointy end” to which Loki’s silent response was “alright, Arya Stark.” For those who don’t know, Arya Stark is a character from Game of Thrones, and “stick ‘em with the pointy end” is one of her more famous lines. Similarly, when Sigyn says, “[…] would make _Tinder itself_ grab a bell and ring it at me while droning SHAME SHAME SHAME!”, that’s a reference to a scene from that show in which a character is forced to “atone for her (sexual) sins” by walking naked through a crowded street while someone rang a bell repeatedly and said “shame…shame…shame.” Fun, huh? Not so much.
  5. “Champagne” by Niykee Heaton is the song playing when Sig and Loki are alone at the dinner table and she downs the rest of the wine straight from the bottle.
  6. By the way...I love Darcy Lewis. Sig and Darce are BEST FRIENDS for a reason. I wouldn't include her in this AU if I didn't love that girl. She's flawed...but who isn't? (accept for Loki...kidding)
  7. I’ll keep my “personal” author’s notes to myself. It’s one thing to explain the “technical” stuff, but as I’ve said before, I don’t want to influence the reader’s response by telling them how *I* feel about it. I only want readers to genuinely respond in their own minds without my “writer’s intent” getting in the way. If you’re willing to share your thoughts on this chapter with me, please do. I genuinely appreciate the feedback. It needn’t be a raving, amazing review or anything- I don’t mind. (Just don’t be a vitriolic troll. It’s unbelievably hurtful and demotivating. Not that anyone has done that so far- you’ve all been extremely gracious. Thank you thank you.)
  8. I realize that I’ve been exceptionally slow to respond to comments since the previous update, and I apologize for that. It’s been a hot mess of a month, and other “less fun” real life priorities have unfortunately slowed my AO3 activity. That said, things are finally improving, and I’m pleased to say that I now have scheduled chapter release dates (on my website) rather than vague guesses. Chapter 10 on December 5, Chapter 11 on December 19, and the final chapter on December 31...because that's New Year's Eve (duh), and that is PERFECT. (Side note: if you don’t want to wait as long between each update, here’s a tip: I publish all chapter updates on my website [Frigid, Fallen, Fearless](http://www.frigidimmortals.com) prior to posting them on Archive. I’ve started using my site as an editing/finishing-touches tool rather than a typical word processor because it gives me a better sense of how the chapter “plays out” on a web screen prior to “committing” to it here on Archive. It’s less pressure for me to hit “publish page” on my site, which has drastically helped to speed up my writing. Also, all images of "Loki" and "Sig" and other characters are my original digital art, so if you see a pic that looks like Hiddleston or whoever, just know those aren't new _real_ photos of the MCU actors) Anyway. Enough of that.
  9. If you haven’t already done so, please tap/click that kudos icon if you like _New Year, Same Habit._ Bookmark/subscribe/comment…whatever. I’ll take it. Thank you so much for reading my work. If you’ve come this far, I hope it’s been worth it.



Take care, guys, and I’ll see you on December 5 (on my website) or a few days later here on AO3. <3 -Jen


	10. Hotel Hell, Closing Bell.

***QUICK NOTE. PLEASE READ*** Hey, folks! Hopefully, I was clear enough in the previous notes from CH 9 where I said readers can get the next three chapters (two, after this) **on my site (frigidimmortals.com) on Dec 5th, 19th, and 31st.** If you choose to read here on ao3 instead, you'll have to wait several extra days (clearly, since it is now Dec 10) for each chapter...so...just sayin. I posted CH 10 over there on December 5 at midnight, and you should go check it out because I made that page so _PRETTY_ , dammit, and I want you to see it! ;-) (Not yelling...just excited) 

Okay...ready for the beginning of the end? No? Hmmm...well...ummmm...just take some deep breaths. Maybe grab a glass of your preferred poison. Chapter 10 here we go.

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

**PART ONE: LOKI**

**“HOTEL HELL”**

**_~Six Weeks Later, 11:17am, July 21, 2019~_ **

Lying face down on his hotel bed in Paris, not even half-awake yet since he’d been out til 3 last night (this morning, technically), Loki heard his ringtone screaming at him from the bedside table like a shrill schoolmarm for the fifth god forsaken time. Text alerts and notifications wouldn’t bloody shut up either. Apparently, he’d been too drunk to put it on silent before he passed out. _Lovely_. Groaning as he stretched across the pillow, he blindly reached for the damn thing and looked at the screen.

5 missed calls and voicemails from his publicist- _oh what NOW?_ -plus 7 texts from Val, 10 from Hela _(what?!)_ , 3 from Thor, 1 from his mum. Considering his _highly_ restricted settings for all social media platforms since their _validation_ screwed with his already jacked up head just a wee bit too much, seeing 20 or so alerts from his accounts was disconcerting, to say the least.

_Huh- none from Sig? Strange._

He frowned, putting a hand over his eyes because his head was _killing_ him, then started the tiring process of looking through the digital barrage that apparently required his _urgent_ attention. The first text was from his publicist, linking to a TMZ ( _seriously? -a LINK?)_ post of some random woman with him at a bar last night. Well, not _with_ him. He’d gone out alone. And he'd come back to the hotel alone... _somehow_. How he got back here was a bit foggy. He sat up, squinting at the screen.

“What the hell?”

The caption read “ _Critically-acclaimed author spotted in Paris getting VERY close to an unknown woman.”_

His jaw dropped. “Oh shit.”

He was facing the camera, a tumbler in his right hand- no doubt one of _many_ glasses since he couldn’t remember a damn thing past 11-ish. Unfortunately, the woman was _not_ facing the camera, but was turned completely toward him instead, which would not be an issue if she weren’t actually _wrapping her body around him_ like a koala.

_Son of a-_

Her left hand was gripping his waist...um...was that... _under_ the hem of his shirt? _Yes-_ why else would the Calvin Klein logo just above his belt be visible? Her right arm was slung over his shoulders, which again, wouldn’t be problematic if her _bare_ leg wasn’t hooked around him so high on his hip that her inner thigh was flush with the button fly of his trousers. Was this a joke? Was it photoshop? He squinted further, zooming in with his thumb and forefinger.

_What even- her OPEN mouth is on my NECK?!_

_And it’s not photoshop, LO. This actually happened._

_God, I can’t remember any-_

His eyes popped wide open then as the whole thing came screaming back to him. The specifics were lost on him, but his gut response to the gratefully _brief_ interaction with that person was as clear as day- as though his brain had downloaded the situation and saved it in the “ _don’t touch me don’t touch me take your hands OFF me”_ file in his memory that was reserved for the _WORST_ moments of his life. Likely no one who had seen (or was _now_ seeing) the image would register the look on his face as fear or extreme discomfort. No, he looked...bored. Straight face. Glazed eyes. Clearly tired. His left hand was hanging awkwardly behind his back, and maybe that was the most obvious reminder of the general claustrophobic feeling in that moment when that girl appeared out of nowhere. It registered as “ _I need_ _space please dear god I just need space. MY space. My apartment. My city. This isn’t the right place. I’m in the WRONG PLACE!”_ and that’s what was hiding in his _bored_ expression.

People who really knew him would see it in his eyes. Sig most of all. She might even know verbatim the words in playing in his head in this picture: “ _my knife is in my room, it isn’t on me, oh my god I forgot my knife this girl isn’t an actual threat so I wouldn’t actually use it on her but oh shit I do not have the ONE thing I HAVE TO HAVE”_

He couldn’t remember specifically, but 100% that was the moment that he had called it a night. A sudden realization of being caught out in the open without the only thing that kept him from being completely vulnerable absolutely would cause him to hightail it out of _anywhere_. He reached down, feeling blindly around his belt, and sure enough, the blade was secure on it. Dead on. He left that bar and came straight back here just to put his knife where it belonged. And then he passed out. Oh, if only he’d thought to chug 2 litres of water first.

He groaned, wishing the pounding in his head would give it a rest as he scowled at the picture. He scrolled to the next link, which was a different account’s post of a picture that was taken by a pap last May. He remembered this one well since it was actually a good one, and he and Sig were happy as hell that day. He’d been out shopping with her for the first time in... _ever_. So... maybe this post wouldn’t be upsetting? Doubtful. Optimism had never done him any favors.

_**Yea I’m jealous of @signfrey88 (talk about GOALS) but I am not bitter towards her bc obviously she makes LO happy and he DESERVES TO BE HAPPY. But now one of their friends is saying they broke up in June before the tour?!! They were spotted in SoHo just THIS May, and they looked IN LOVE AF?! WTH HAPPENED I AM SO WORRIED ABOUT HIM_ 🥺😩💔😭 _tell me you’re okay @lokiswriting (don’t tag them in the comments pls!)_

_jfc don’t add to this drama_ 🙄 

_Ffs YOU ALREADY TAGGED them_

_Yikes your funeral. LO fans know not to talk about LFDG_

_Tf is LFDG?_

_LFDG = LO’s Forever Dream Girl HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS_

_WHY ARE YOU YELLIN_

_So he wrote sunlight for her and then she breaks up with him? That is fucked up._ 😠

 _How do you know HE didn’t dump HER?_ 🤔

 _Because LO an_ 😇🥰

 _Angel??? Nah sis. We all read Starboy._ 😈😎🔥 

_I’m a mess for him but like let’s not pretend he doesn’t play when the cat’s away._ 😏

 _Noooooo I love them!_ 😢 _#logynforever_

 _Next book: “Nevermind. My Bad.”_ 🌦

 _LO’s next book: Love is Dead_ 💀 

_LO’s next book: I Regret Everything_ 🥴

_LO’s next book: Think I’ll Try Dick Now Thanks_

_Wheezing at these book titles_

_ILL TRY DICK NOW THANKS WTF_ 🤣

 _Y’all evil_ 😹

_What are you all, 12? You shouldn’t even be ALLOWED to read his books at your age. If he and Sig legit called it quits, it’s no laughing matter._

_Ok Karen_ 👍🏼

_I’m 23 but nice try_

_31 over here! Grown ups make jokes sometimes too_ ✌🏽

_28 and feelin great_

_81 older than LO and he likes it_ 💅🏻

😳🤯 _YOU’RE 81?! I-_

 _Omg I meant I was BORN IN 81_ 😝

 _WAS ABOUT TO SAY WE GOT A GRANNY STAN_ 👵🏼😹

 _Sometimes feels that way_ 😉😩

_Well if they DIDN’T break up, that means he just cheated on her in Paris OOPS_

_Cheated?? Bull.Shit. LO looks uncomfortable af in that pic._ 🤢

 _I’d go further than “uncomfortable”. That girl was literally GROPING him. Call it what it is: sexual assault._ 🤬

💯 _I hope he presses charges_

_But the French police aren’t doing anything???_

_No one gives af when a woman does that to a man_ 😒 

_Ya’ll need to chill about that Paris pic. Man is fine._ 🌟😎🔥

_Stop obsessing over who he’s dating. Just enjoy his books and the view._

His eyes blew wide at the screenshot of top comments that his publicist (who he was absolutely going to FIRE) had also sent that he unfortunately couldn’t _unsee_. And how the hell did this person go off and tag his girl while telling everyone else not to like a goddamn digital schoolmarm?

_God the lack of brainpower in this world is demoralizing._

He grabbed the hotel phone from the nightstand and threw it across the room, the cord ripping out of the wall with such force it yanked out a chunk of drywall. The lamp came next as he growled at the empty room. 

“You’re _worried_ about me? Then maybe don’t post this rubbish at _ALL!”_

Eyes slamming shut, he sank back down onto the bed and rubbed his temples.

_Oh, that was a mistake._

Son of a _bitch_ \- the wretched sledgehammer behind his eyes truly _was_ going to obliterate his skull.

_No more screaming or throwing things._

Pushing a shaking hand through his hair, he opened his recent calls, scrolling through until he got to Sigyn. He tapped her name with his thumb and put his phone to his ear.

“Come on, pick up pick up pick up pick up,” he said through his teeth, pacing across the room.

It went to her voicemail: “ _Hey, it’s Sigyn. I’m DEFINITELY not gonna return your call, but I’ll consider texting you. Cheers!”_

“Goddammit,” he said under his breath. When he heard the tone on the other end, he pulled a hand down his face.

“Hi love, it’s um…” he squinted at his watch, his hungover brain struggling to convert the time difference, “...wow...is it really only 5:30 there? God, I’m sorry for calling so early.”

 _No, I’m not. I want you to call me back right this second_.

“Just…” he sighed heavily, putting his hand over his eyes again, “please call me when you get this.”

He ended the call and stared miserably down at his phone. His publicist would hate him for it, but he typed up a quick, entirely reactionary, unprofessional, unprepared, zero-fucks-given, _LO-is-kinda-volatile_ tweet- **_@LokisWriting: "You talking money, need a hearing aid. You talking bout me, I don't see the shade. Switch up my style, I take any lane. I switch up my cup, I kill any pain. Look what you've done._** _ **I’m a muthafuckin' starboy."** -_then sent it out into the seventh circle of hell known as "the internet" without a second thought. 

__

No apologies. No regrets. Now make the incessant _DINGING_ stop.

Opening his settings, he checked his notification filters. They were already restricted to alerts from Sig, Val, his mum, Hela (that jaw-breaking nutcracker was worth it), and a few others. God, to think if he allowed push alerts from every fan, every journalist, every critic- both professional and bored trolls -his phone would probably explode. So... wow...apparently his _few_ favorite people were sending his phone into a dinging frenzy on their own, and the _one_ person he _wanted_ to talk to hadn’t texted him. Okay then. Nothing to do but silence the damn thing for now. An overload of saliva flooded his mouth then, and his stomach turned over violently.

_Oh...oh no…_

Hand over his mouth, he dropped his phone on the bed and ran to the bathroom, making it just in time to avoid vomiting on the pristine floor tiles. The alcohol from last night was certainly not helping the horrendous TMZ-induced nausea. Or the headache. He pushed to his feet on shaking legs and turned on the shower. Waiting for it to heat up, he popped two aspirin and chased them with a bottle of water from the minibar. Twenty minutes later, after scrubbing himself raw to wash off the residue from that woman’s hands and everything he had _not done wrong_ last night down the drain, he checked his phone.

**_11:52 AM Missed Call from Forever Dream Girl_ **

She’d called him back. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning in Manhattan, and it was a Sunday. This fucking _perfect_ girl. Sig had to be losing her mind over that photo. Her protective instinct was off the charts, and it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if she was looking at flights to Paris right now.

Thumb hovering over the “return call” icon, he swallowed the lump in his throat, then nearly dropped his phone when a text from her popped up on the screen:

**Sigyn: I saw the picture, and heard your vm,**

**and tried to call. Please CALL ME. I’m obviously awake!**

He sank to the bed and put his head in his hands. Before he hit the call button, another rapid text popped up on the screen.

**Sigyn: k fine if you can't call for some reason**

**then at least text me! Tell me you are okay.**

**Pls tell me you are okay** **🥺**

Oddly enough the exclamation point made his headache worse- as though he could hear her too loud voice right next to him. Blowing out a slow breath through his mouth, he gingerly laid back on the bed. He needed to close his eyes for a second because the screen was too bright.

**Sigyn: omg Loki, love, please please please**

**CALL ME**

**Sigyn: looking at flights right now swear to god**

**Sigyn: need you to pay for my ticket tho bc**

**I did not budget for this**

**Sigyn: I’m at buckets place with farce and she’s**

**doing insta detective work to figure out who tf**

**that girl is and when I get there I will find her**

**and throw a large HOT COFFEE in her face**

**and then I’m bringing you HOME**

**Sigyn: god damn autocorrect *BUCKY’S place *DARCE**

**Sigyn: LOKI** **😩**

**Sigyn:** **😭💔🙏🏼**

**Sigyn: im about to call hotel security to check on you**

The pounding in his head finally eased up, and he opened his eyes, frowning at the screen which he had _not clicked off_ and therefore appeared to be reading but _ignoring_ her string of texts. Great. He tapped on her contact avatar to call her.

**_~Same time, Bucky’s apartment, Brooklyn, NY~_ **

Sigyn breathed “oh thank god” when Loki’s picture and name lit up her screen. She tapped to answer his call instantly while pacing anxiously around Bucky’s living room. He spoke before she had a chance to get out the “ey” part of “hey”.

“ _I’m okay, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice came through her earbuds like the prettiest music EVER._

She dropped to her knees, no doubt bruising them on the hardwood, and cried into her palm.

“Are...are you...” she tried, her voice breaking between sniffles, “are you sure?”

No way in hell could he imagine how god damn relieved she was to hear him. She would give anything to have him physically with her, but at least the satellites were on her side, connecting Loki to her over a seemingly endless ocean. Not that she should feel disconnected to someone who held her heart in his hands. She heard him sigh heavily on his end. He sounded exhausted. Shocking.

“ _Other than vomiting about twenty minutes ago? Yes, I’m sure.” Another sigh. “Drank far too much last night. I now relate to that ‘gettin too old for this shit’ line on a level I previously thought inconceivable.”_

She smiled despite herself. “Even hungover your vocabulary exceeds what I _previously thought inconceivable.”_

_“Mm,” he hummed, making a sound somewhere between a deep laugh and a groan, “stop stroking my ego, woman.”_

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to stroke _something_. Namely that incredible thing between his thighs. God, why oh _WHY_ wasn’t there an app for jumping into the phone screen and arriving in her boyfriend’s hotel room on _the other side of the ATLANTIC?_ Ugh his voice sounded so _good_. Hearing his voice was like listening to the taste of gourmet chocolate melting in your mouth.

Closing her eyes, she licked her lips, picturing his-

_NOT HELPING._

She rolled her eyes. For pity’s sake, she hadn’t been able to get through five straight minutes without thinking of him in six weeks. As though she needed help remembering that she hadn’t had the _immense_ pleasure of sleeping with him since June 10th _-_ _a thousand bloody years ago!_ Oh, it made her see red every time. When he got home, she was going to make up for all this absurd time lost by attaching herself to him in every way possible for a solid _month_. Seriously, she might just quit her job, toss her overly demanding to-do list, and make a new one.

To-do list:

  1. Loki
  2. LOKI
  3. _LOKI_
  4. _LOKI!!!!!!_



_“I feel a bit better since I had a shower.”_

She bit her lip, _trying_ to suppress a moan as the glorious image of her ridiculous _specimen_ boyfriend naked and dripping wet shot into her brain like ‘spray and pray’ fully automatic rapid-fire rounds. 

_Go ahead, shoot me, Loki. I’ll even THANK you for it._

She was the worst girlfriend. He was dealing with the aftermath of excessive alcohol, creepy people _groping_ him, and fucking TMZ blasting it all over the planet, but she wasn’t consoling him with heartfelt concerned and caring words. No, here she was daydreaming about him stepping out of a shower, dropping his towel, and fucking on his bathroom counter.

“ _Sig?”_

One of his hands would hold her hip, the other stretching up, splayed flat against the mirror behind her back.

“ _Sig, sweetheart? You there?”_

Legs shaking, her open mouth would be attached to the hinge of his jaw as she clung to his back and shoulder.

“ _Um...I can hear you breathing hard, gorgeous girl. What in god’s name is happening right now?”_

She snapped out of her fantasy at the sound of creaking floorboards. Darcy had walked into the room, saying something about Bucky making pancakes.

“Do what?” Sigyn asked, shaking her head. She saw her best friend’s lips moving but only heard Loki’s voice.

“ _Since I hear Lewis in the background being loud as ever, I assume you are unfortunately not in a bedroom with the door shut, and therefore do not have your hand inside your little purple sleep shorts, which is what I was envisioning. Wow, I think the cure to this hangover is a hard-on because my headache and nausea have left the building.”_

Oh god, her insides were melting. She felt completely flushed, and from the knowing expression on Darcy’s face, she looked it too.

“Jesus, get a room, Siggy,” she smirked, grabbing a coffee mug.

“ _I heard that,” Loki’s deep baritone rumbled in her ear as she pushed to her feet._

Eyes rolling, Sigyn flipped her best friend off as she brushed passed Bucky in the hall. He gave her a gruff morning greeting, which she returned with a flippant wave while closing the second bedroom door behind her. Ignoring Darcy laughing in the other room, she flopped onto the bed face first and groaned.

“I miss youuuuuuu,” she whined, hitting the mattress repeatedly with her fist.

“ _Me too, sweetheart,” he sighed after a beat, “even more so after last night.”_

The disappointment in his voice brought her back from her sex-starved haze.

“Did anything happen after…” she started, gesturing to the empty room even though he couldn’t see her, “after whatever was going on in that photo.”

“ _No,” he responded quickly and firmly, “I was just having a drink- or eight drinks -and she appeared next to me, asked for a hug, and didn’t wait for me to respond. She grabbed me, and her friend took a picture. That was the extent of it.”_

Sigyn grit her teeth, pushing up to her knees, twisting the bedspread angrily. Honestly, she wanted to _cut_ that person. Her friend too.

“She’s lucky I wasn’t there to kick her in the vagina.”

“ _Oh, if ONLY,” he laughed hard enough to make himself go into a coughing fit. “I’m more exhausted than anything. I had more energy the first few weeks. I could sign books and listen to their stories, and make jokes and take selfies, but it’s been six weeks. I’m supposed to smile at these things, but I’m fairly certain I just look pissed off all the time now.”_

“Anyone with half a brain won’t fault you for that.”

“ _Can you believe my publicist sent me a post captioned ‘LO looking mean af is my sexuality’? He said I need to get back on-brand, and stop being MOODY.”_

“Quill sent me that same post in my DMs, and I won’t lie,” she scratched the back of her neck, “you do make _‘mean’_ look hot as hell.”

“ _Well alright then,” he said, sounding like he was smiling, “I’ll make sure to scowl more for your sake.”_

Blowing out a breath, she ran her hand through her hair. Uh...yes please. Some of his angry looks (not aimed _at her)_ made her want to get on her knees and call him ‘sir’ until her voice gave out on her.

_Good lord, I am ACHING._

_Yeahhhh, pull it together, hon._

She was on the verge of sobbing. He wouldn’t be home for another two weeks, and that was _so far away._ Was it too much to ask the universe for magical teleportation powers? She hadn’t been this desperate to get her hands on him since...ever. Even when they started dating and were in that thrilling build up to the main act stage, when just _talking_ to him was enough to get her high, she hadn’t been _this_ worked up over him. Talk about _a helluva drug._

_“I don’t know how the hell to make it through two more weeks, Sig,” he said, sounding so SAD suddenly._

Looking sideways out the window, she swallowed, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She could feel a thick layer of darkness in his tone, the same tone of Starboy’s unnamed narrator. She had always imagined _his_ voice while reading it, but she’d never _actually_ heard Loki speak like this. It wasn’t just dark. It was...what was the right word for it? 

Dangerous.

Downward-spiral dangerous.

_Bottle of oxy dangerous._

Tears prickled her eyes as she continued staring out the window. She wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. Not that she could ever be ready for hell, but she needed more time to heal from this awful year before she had enough strength to wrap her arms around him and kick and kick and kick to keep his unbearably heavy head above the water.

She’d known theoretically that it was a possibility- that eventually she would see this part of him. He’d mentioned on and off how this worked, and she had done her own research because _he was too important_ for her to not have a clue what to do for him. The dark was always there, lurking, waiting in the shadows in the corner. He sighed then, bringing her out of the “theoretical” darkness to come and instead back to the here and now.

_“I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart,” he said, his voice straining a bit, as though he were stretching out after waking up. “And you don’t have to worry about it. I’m fine. I swear. Just tired and ready to come home.”_

Eyebrows pulling together, she chewed her lip. “It’s okay if you aren’t fine, love.”

_“Sig.”_

“Loki.” God, she loved the sound of his name.

_“I’m FINE.”_

She stared blankly at the window, wanting to question him further but knowing better than to prod him.

“Oh, you’re _fine_ alright, forever dream boy,” she said, smiling when he chuckled. Can’t go wrong with a joke. “I can’t wait to see you. I’m losing my mind over here.”

**_~Back in Paris, Same call~_ **

Loki hummed. “Thirty-six years ahead of you on that front.” 

_“How did I know you would say that?”_

“Not exactly a hard one to predict,” he said with a shrug.

_“Don’t talk about HARD things.”_

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.

_“Don’t say that either.”_

Smiling wide, he threw his free hand up. “Alright, what am I allowed to say, picky girl?”

_“Ummm... you may talk about the weather.”_

“Ah,” he said, eyeing the window when the faint rumble of distant thunder echoed in his hotel room. “Well, it is going to be a _wet_ one today.”

_“Oh Loki, come ON.”_

Shoulders shaking, he rolled onto his stomach and laughed into the pillow. “I can do that, but first I need you to tell me what you want me to _come on.”_ He couldn’t help it. She’d said _“oh Loki”_ loud enough to require pulling his phone away from his ear.

_“Insufferable jerk.”_

“You love me.”

_“Oh hardcore. Question- would you mind if I answer ‘did LO break up with his girlfriend’ on my Insta? Or is that too-”_

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, pushing off the bed and going to his bag to dig out a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, “I suggest you turn off comments though.”

_“I was already going to turn off comments.”_

He grinned just a touch. “Smart girl.”

She didn’t respond, and the silence persisted so long that he thought the call had dropped.

“You there?” he asked, one eyebrow raising.

_“Yes,” she answered after another beat, then sniffled- a sure sign to him that she was trying to not cry, “I’ve got to go get dressed for a depressingly early yoga class with Darce.”_

Putting a hand over his eyes, he nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t want to hang up. _Ever_. This was the most he’d missed her, and that was saying something.

_“I love-”_

“-love you.”

They’d said it at the same time, and he ended the call immediately. He was on the verge of absolutely sobbing, and he didn’t particularly want her to hear it. He stared at the wall, wondering how much it would cost to repair it if he put his fist through it. Ten seconds later, he received a notification (the only one he hadn’t turned off) that she’d tagged him in a new post and captioned it **_“cannot wait to dance on a rooftop in NYC with him again #foreverdreamboy”_** along with a row of black and red hearts. It was a throwback, one that he hadn’t seen before, but he recognized the date and location as being from Lewis’s 4th of July party last summer. She’d put her phone in his face and said something about his _“pretty pretty hair.”_ Sig had laughed, and he had refused to smile. Oh god, it was such a _good_ picture- why hadn’t Sig ever sent it to him? Hitting the reply icon, he typed out **_“2 weeks, 2 weeks, 2 weeks, 2 weeks”_** (multiple fire emojis included for _emphasis)_ and hit the heart icon.

  
  
  
  


2 weeks indeed. Hopefully, “dancing on a rooftop in NYC” was code for destroying his bed in his apartment.

_Hopefully, she’ll let ME lead this time._

* * *

**_~2 weeks later, 6:50pm, August 3, 2019~_ **

**Loki: Guess who just landed at JFK.**

**Sigyn: !!!** **😍😍😍😍** **!!!**

**Sigyn: When will you get home?**

**Loki: Probably about 9:00.**

**I have to go through**

**immigration and get an**

**UberBLACK and all that.**

**I will obviously let you**

**know if that changes.**

**Sigyn: 2 more hours booooo.**

**I’ll be at your place. Unless**

**you need some space to**

**decompress?**

**Loki: Oh my god, no no NO.**

**PLEASE be there.**

**Sigyn: Down, boy.**

**See you soon.**

**Loki: Cannot wait.**

At 9:20, with his carry-on backpack slung across one shoulder, he breezed into his building- _oh thank god, FINALLY_ -and shook hands with his doorman as the driver removed his two checked suitcases from the trunk of the car and rolled them inside. Giving a quick “thank you” wave, he grabbed the handles of his suitcases and rolled them to his elevator. He took off his backpack to dig out his keys, his heart rate climbing faster than the lift taking him up to the top floor. Keys between his teeth, the doors slid open, and his pounding heart stopped altogether.

Sigyn stood in the hall, bouncing on her feet and smiling brighter than the sun itself- a smile that he returned in full, his keys still hanging from his mouth. He moved without realizing it. One second he was in the elevator, and the next he collided with her in the hall, wrapping her in a rib-breaking hug. They might have stood like that for a minute or an hour. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Pulling back just enough to slide her arms out from under his, she smoothed her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. He bent down to her face, and suddenly it was New Years. There wasn’t music or dancing or confetti or clinking glasses or deafening fireworks, yet somehow, he heard all of it. Behind closed lids, his eyes rolled back, the blood rush and the chemical rush sending him sky high.

_Hello, my name is Loki…_

_And I am a lovesick fool of a man._

Hands in her hair, unable to pull his mouth away from hers, he dragged her blindly down the hall, his back hitting his half open door with a solid _thud_ that knocked the wind out of him. Gasping like he’d been kicked, he blinked rapidly, and she abruptly turned and ran back down the hall, pushing the elevator button repeatedly before disappearing behind the doors.

Eyes blowing wide, he had a completely unfounded moment of panic. Where was she going? What was this? How had he _already_ screwed this up? He eyed his surroundings, breathing hard. Had he just hallucinated that reunion? Was he still on the plane, dreaming inside a benzo-induced nap? Out from behind the lift doors, he saw his suitcases speed across the floor and slam into the wall on the other side of the hall as though they had minds of their own.

Suitcase robots?

_This must be the Xanax._

But then Sigyn came running out after the R2-D2 rejects, shouting something about him forgetting his _“stupid heavy!”_ bags. Ah, that’s what happened- she’d shoved them out. That made far more sense than robots.

_Hello, my name is Loki, and I am clinically insane._

She left them in the hall and ran back toward him, saying he could get them after.

“After?” he repeated, his lower stomach clenching as she neared him.

_After? After what?_

_DETAILS, PLEASE. AND BE SPECIFIC._

“After we fuck about thirty times,” she said, as though it was obvious, then quite literally crashed into his body, grabbed the back of his head, and yanked his gaping mouth down to hers.

_Jesus. Christ._

She walked him backward into his apartment so quickly- so _violently_ -that his backside hit the key table and knocked everything off, including her laptop bag, which they both tripped over then crumbled to the floor in a pile of limbs. It could have been hilarious, but the last thing on his mind was comedy while she was tearing his clothes off. Right there on the floor in front of his door, since apparently, they couldn’t handle waiting the ten seconds it would take to get to his bed, she begged him to lead. She begged him to pull her hair harder, to kiss her harder, to fuck her harder.

When he woke up the next morning his back was covered in faint scratches. This was the wake up after a bad dream. He was back in NYC, in his bed, and Sig was lying next to him, grinning in her sleep.

August 2019 was beautiful. He felt like he was falling in love all over again with her _every day._ The falling continued into September...

Falling from cloud nine.

Falling from a cliff.

Falling from every pedestal she’d ever put him on.

He was one of those muted grey, dried up, _dead_ leaves that had fallen onto the pavement outside his building. And he dreaded the moment when she would replace him with something new and colorful in the spring, when the warmth of her sunlight brought someone else out of their endless winter grey. She would give her new year to another man, and he would be grateful that he was dead already so he wouldn’t have to watch.

* * *

**PART TWO: SIGYN**

**"CLOSING BELL"**

**_~6 weeks later, 12:17am, September 12, 2019~_ **

Sigyn _hated_ August. It was too hot and too long, with too many tourists trying to catch that last bit of summer vacation before school started. August made her wish the sun would just go take a walk and cool off. In her opinion- _the RIGHT opinion!_ -August sun needed to enroll in an anger management program. It acted like it was pissed off at everyone, so it punished them with constant nagging and never-ending sick _burns_. August sun just loved _roasting_ Manhattan, turning it into a giant oven that wasn’t hot enough to kill you, but it did make you want to die. It was atrocious. Ugh, the concrete just baked all day, and the glass windows reflected that heat in all directions, and everyone was a sweaty mess by the time they got to work each morning. See, _this_ is why she kept baby wipes, deodorant, dry shampoo, and a hair dryer in her office. Admittedly it was extremely odd, perhaps disturbing, but she even brought an extra pair of underwear in her bag every day because yes, it was _that_ hot, and sweating in certain places was just- _ugh_. Also, she was a bit paranoid about UTIs. So, thank god, it was now September, right? Nope. Still hot as fuck. God, it was pushing _90_ today. Not cool.

 _“NOT COOL?_...hahahahaha...no ‘pologies for th’ puns!” she laughed, trying not to let the five-ish drinks of the night make her slur her words _too_ much as she stepped out of an Uber outside of her building.

The driver gave her an utterly confused look. “What’s that, ma’am?”

“The _puns_ , boy!” she answered, halting halfway through closing the back-right door and bending down to see him better.

“Your face... sooooo funny,” she snorted. Then she looked sideways, her lips pursing. “Oh, did I think or say that?”

“That my face is funny-looking?” His face did _not_ look pleased.

_Noooooooo, he’ll give me a shitty customer rating!!_

“NO,” she waved a hand and pointed to his face, “nah nah nah you’ve a handsome face no worries. You made a funny _ex-press-ion,”_ she enunciated the word slowly, forcing the correct pronunciation, which was decidedly _not_ easy.

_Fuck- I am so drunk._

She bit her lip and winked, which was probably overkill, but he smiled wide, and she could see his face flush even at this late hour with no sun left to shine a light on his pink cheeks. Good. Mission accomplished. That should earn her an extra star, hopefully. Honestly, was there anything that flashing a sexy smile wouldn’t get her?

_Hm... feminist credibility._

She shook her head a bit, annoyed with her head for providing that extremely on the nose finger-wagging answer, then she put her hand on her hip and smiled again.

“Must’ve made th’ joke in m’ head,” she said, gripping the door harder because the space around her felt like it was wobbling, and these heels were not helping.

He checked all around him, presumably making sure he wasn’t blocking traffic, then returned his eyes to her. She noticed him looking her up and down, mostly focusing on her chest. She looked down at herself, and rolled her eyes, adjusting her stance and her top. Okay, maybe she shouldn’t bend over like this in public.

_Oof, sooooo awkward._

“K, bye!” she smiled again and waved, slamming the door and hurrying to her building on somewhat shaky legs.

She climbed the stairs to the third floor, clinging to the railing because seeing straight was a _task_ right now. Was it midnight? Maybe? She didn’t care. All that liquor would make tomorrow morning a bitch, but how else was she supposed to get through all that “functional fitness” blathering between Thor and Sam at the bar tonight? Thank heaven Darcy was there to provide more interesting conversation. Namely, graphic sex talk that had Hela cackling to the point of falling off a barstool. Witnessing that was a _riot_ (Loki would have _died_ if he’d seen it _)_ but that stupid barstool ended up sliding across the floor right smack into Sigyn which made her spill a _full_ drink that _she paid for_ with hard earned money!

Spilled drink aside, what a _FUN_ night. Only one thing would have made it better: Loki. She’d _wanted_ him to come along, but he’d said he needed to write, so...yeah okay. Write write write. Again. Over and over. So far, September was just ships passing in the night. After spending all of August going at it like rabbits, this was killing her. It felt like a legit crash from a high. Maybe _he_ hadn’t felt it, but for her, August felt like falling in love with him _every day._ If it weren’t for the stifling summer heat, she would decree that August was her new favorite month from now on because, yes, her boyfriend’s hips were _that_ convincing.

Fuck- she missed him so much now. She didn’t have a good enough word to describe how _much_. She needed to pick Loki’s “tricky” brain for a decent adverb. For hell’s sake, he may as well be back in Europe for all the lack of time they spent together, and that is a thought that she should have kept to herself. But no, she just had to _say it out loud_ to his face before she left to go out tonight. Then she’d gone full passive aggressive- _“okay well if you can’t take a break from the NON-STOP writing as of late and spend a few measly hours with your supposed forever dream girl, that’s fine.”_ He had given her the dirtiest look of the century- and not _good_ dirty.

She’d played it off as an attempt at humor when he reminded her (through his teeth) that his first draft was due at the end of the month, and that he had not been able to write _“one decent goddamn word!”_ during the tour and that if it hadn’t been for her _“occupying every single thought and breath”_ in August, maybe he _would_ be able to take a break and spend a _“few measly hours with his forever dream girl!”_ She probably should have interpreted that as him saying _“I can’t get enough of you, and in August, I SHOWED that, but even though I still FEEL it, I HAVE to get this shit done, or HC will send a hitman after me, so please stop accusing me of ignoring you because that IS NOT WHAT I AM DOING.”_

But she _didn’t_ interpret it that way. His actual words didn’t even register. They were too loud and too angry, and she just didn’t have the energy to translate or rationalize the increasingly frequent yelling. However, he _did_ apologize for yelling at her, and it was without her prompting him to do so. Said he was overwhelmed, that the anxiety was getting to him. It never ceased to amaze her that he could just openly admit how stressed he was, and how it was affecting his emotions. Loki had to be the most painfully self-aware man on the planet to be able to stop himself mid-rant and say he _“felt like a piece of shit for taking that tone”_ with her. 

Stars above, he had the _most effective_ puppy dog eyes ever, and that was 100% because she knew they were _real_. He wasn’t faking what was happening behind those eyes. His _beautiful_ mind was full to the brim with endless words and stories and a million ways of putting them together, all of which he made look fucking _effortless_ , but he didn’t need to use any of it if he just _looked_ at her.

_God help me- I am forever WRAPPED._

Still climbing the stairs, she blew out a breath, hiccupping so loud it actually echoed in the stairwell. She giggled a little at the sound. Loki would have laughed if he heard it too. Come to think of it, he probably _had_ heard it. He was at her apartment earlier, so...maybe he was still here? Hopefully. No amount of being jealous of his time or being hurt by hearing him yell at her stood a chance at deterring her from wanting to shove her tongue into his mouth right now. She bit her lip at the thought. If she wasn’t already sweating, she would be now.

_Lord, the THIRST. Hm…must be mid-cycle._

“Man better be on m’couch where I left ‘m,” she mumbled, reaching up to wipe her fingers under her eyes. No doubt her eyeliner was running most _beautifully_ right now. Nothing said “totally sober and classy” quite like dark mascara circles and red glassy eyes. Swiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she groaned, yanking her keys out of her clutch as she walked to her door.

“Make it _STAHP!”_ she yelled, stumbling inside and fumbling to get the key out the lock. Once she was successful, she looked up and saw Loki on her couch, peering up at her from over his laptop.

“Yay! He’s still here!” she squealed, and he visibly winced at her words.

“Make what stop? Or in your version- _STAHP?_ If you’re referring to that shrill sound coming out of your mouth, I agree. Please don’t do that again,” he deadpanned, smiling when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She let out a relieved breath. He’d _actually_ smiled at her- at the girl who was the source of his earlier annoyance. His mood must have improved over the last few hours. Thank heaven. She walked toward him, careful not to trip in her strappy heels.

“Nooooo, my voice’s decibel jus’ righttt,” she hissed, putting extra emphasis on the ‘t’ as she tossed her keys and clutch on her coffee table and dropped heavily onto the couch next to him.

“So eloquent,” he returned his eyes to his screen, “does _‘my voice’s decibel jus right’_ translate to _‘I’m not being loud’_ or…”

“Pfft,” she blew her hair out of her face.

“Alright then,” he snorted, his fingers clacking away over the keys. After a moment of silence, she piped up abruptly at a ‘ _NOT decibel jus right’_ level that made him nearly jump out of his skin.

“I meant I want the hot to go away!” she flung her arms up.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he groaned, curling his arm around the back of her neck, and clamping his palm over her mouth while continuing to type with one hand. “Of _course_ it’s hot. It is still _summer_. Now shush. I’m working.”

She rolled her eyes. Yes, obviously he was working. She was drunk, not _clueless_.

She reached up to pull his hand away. “Diff’renz between Augus ‘n Septemmerrrr. Pluz,” she raised her pitch, “all work ‘n nooooo playyyyy la la la la la.”

_Well, you certainly SOUND clueless, girlie._

_It’s SepTemBer, moron._

“From the sound of it, I think you played enough for the both of us at that bar tonight,” he said, fingers still clacking away.

“You should’ve cooooooome,” she whined, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Eyes still on his screen, he smirked. “Oh, I love coming.”

“Ummmm...me too, so lez do sex thingz,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

He stopped typing and looked at her sideways. “Your intelligence astounds me tonight.”

“I know, riiiiight?!” she laughed out loud, and he shook his head.

“Ridiculous girl,” he sighed, chuckling low as he started tapping the keys again. “I just have one paragraph left, and then we can _do sex things.”_

“Sounz fun,” she grinned, walking her fingers up his stomach. “Want know who appeared tonight?”

“If you want me to finish this paragraph, stop talking.”

“The beeeea-uuuuutiful, superrr scarrrrry, an’ shoxingly hilari-uz Doc-torrrrr Hela Odinnnnn-zun, P...H...D.”

He tore his eyes away from the screen immediately. “ _WHAT?_ And I missed it?! My big sis who lives forever away in _Boston_ and acts like _I hung the moon_ randomly pops up, and I wasn’t even there!”

“Shhhhh!” she put her fingers over his mouth. “Now _your_ decibel‘s not-” hiccup “-right.”

“Christ, Sig,” he said, squinting at her, “seriously...how much did you drink?”

“Nuff for th’ both of us ‘pparently,” she snorted, snatching his laptop away. “This’s too hot. Killing sperm y’know.”

Now _that_ got him to laugh out loud. He threw his head back, turning red as he rubbed his eyes, which were now watering. For a second, she was just so _pleased_ to have made him cackle hard enough to make him cry. She loved that he genuinely thought she was funny. Making him laugh was one of her favorite pastimes. But the longer she stared at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down with the vibrations from his laughter, her eyes glazed over.

_Best. Neck. Ever._

“Is poss’ble t’ be ‘tracted to necks more than th’ owners ‘f said necks?” she slurred, leaning over to set his MacBook on her coffee table.

“I feel like I am trying to interpret what my 3-year-old nephew is saying. No actually,” he held up a finger as she slung her thigh over his legs and moved up to straddle him, “you are even _less_ comprehensible. This reminds me of when he was _two_. It sounded like ‘ung-le Lo-gi max zor-eez’ which according to Hela meant ‘Uncle Loki makes stories’ and I think that is a display of intelligence beyond yours at the moment.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

“You taste like vodka,” he said, licking his lips before leaning toward her mouth again. Running his hands from her bare knees up her smooth thighs, he groaned and stood up with her still wrapped around him.

“Couch’s too small,” he explained, even though she hadn’t asked, when he turned to sit on the bed, keeping her on top of him. He leaned in to kiss her neck under her ear, and her head fell back.

Sliding her hand up his spine, she wrapped her fingers around the back-underside curve of his head. She leaned forward again, breathing hard against his mouth.

“I miss this. I miss you,” she whispered, biting her lip and moaning as he rocked up into her and slipped his thumbs underneath the hemline of the black and white striped suit-shorts she’d worn to work. God, she needed to get his joggers off _now_.

“We do this almost every day, Sig,” he hissed, eyes closed tightly as her fingers tangled in his hair. He released the tension in his neck, letting his head fall back into her hands.

“Thaz true,” she said, trailing her mouth up the tendons in his neck, stopping once she reached the hinge of the sharpest, _sexiest_ jaw ever. “Still not good ’nuff.”

“Don’t start this again,” he groaned, his teeth scraping over his bottom lip, letting her drag his black t-shirt over his head and kiss down his chest. She slid back a little, dropping to her knees on the ground at the edge of her bed.

“I can feel it right now- you’re stug ‘n your ‘head, Starboy,” she mumbled, her face just below his navel. Stars above, his skin tasted so good.

“So fucking stressed about book three, Sig,” he said, breathing hard as her mouth reached the top of his joggers.

“You _must_ stop pressuring me like this...oh fuck-” he swallowed, watching her dark eyes look up at him from under her brow as she hooked her fingers into the sides of the waistband.

He lifted his hips, and as she slid them down, he put his hand on the back of her head. She smirked up at him, batting her long lashes, the heavy black mascara thick enough to barely obstruct her view of his open mouth and slight jutting out of his chin. He was looking at her, but he _wasn’t_.

“Still far up in the clou-” she stopped, eyes rolling at the slurred mess of non-words, then licked her teeth and tried again, carefully enunciating “-in... the... clouDS.”

Saying nothing, he blinked at her. It was such a blank, dead-eyed, _unfeeling_ stare- a visual manifestation of the phrase _‘silent as the grave’._ And speaking of graves, she had just dug her own. Releasing his hold on her neck, he bent down and grabbed his joggers, yanking them up his legs as he stood back up.

Heart sinking, stomach twisting, hands shaking, she watched him look around for his shirt.

“Loki, I didn’t...I’m s-”

“I’m going to sleep at my place tonight,” he spoke flatly, cutting her off as he grabbed his shirt once he spotted it.

Her eyes blew wide, and not only her hands, but her _entire body_ started shaking. Maybe her blood sugar was crashing from the alcohol. Maybe she was dehydrated. Or maybe she was fucking _terrified_ of him walking out her door and _not coming back._

“Clearly my _actual_ bodily presence here with you will not suffice,” he said, lacing up his gleaming white, un-scuffed, Adidas court sneakers, “and since that is _all_ I am able to give to you for perfectly acceptable reasons that I have already explained _several_ times, I am going home so as to spare you from feeling like I am half-assing _sex things_ with you. You’re piss drunk anyway, and I don’t want to fuck if you aren’t _all there_ either,” he glared at her, tapping his temple.

He stood up, grabbed his MacBook, shoved it in his bag, and slung the thing over his shoulder. Eyes on the floor, she reached up to wipe away the teardrops clinging to her lashes as her door swung open and slammed again, his footsteps on the other side of the wall disappearing down the stairs. Her stomach turned over, the wretched sensation washing over her so abruptly that she barely had time to get to her commode.

She flushed away the remnants and yanked a good bit of toilet paper off the roll to clean herself up. She flushed those too and closed the lid. Heaving sobs shook her body, and she laid her head on her arms. Loki hadn’t even given her a courteous _‘I’ll text you when I get there’_ or _‘I’ll call you tomorrow’_ or anything comforting at _all_.

This was...this was not good. Things were falling apart. The center was not holding. Their perfect August binary star orbit was losing balance, spinning out of control and too close into a September death spiral. She should have known. She should have fucking _known_ Loki would break her heart eventually. She never should have let her guard down. God, no one should allow themselves to fall in this deep with another person. _Ever_. 

_Nothing_ lasts forever. She was not his _forever_ dream girl. She was just a dopamine-kick with a two year expiration date used to write a bestselling book, wasn’t she. That’s why he was so goddamn frustrated lately. His muse wasn’t giving him the rush anymore. His tolerance was too high now. That’s all she’d been- a helluva drug. For a time. Now she wasn’t even _that_. She was cut with 90% flour- subpar shit that wouldn’t even give a first-time user a buzz. Sinking to the cold floor tiles, she curled in on herself and cried until she fell asleep. 

...

_Song for Part One: Loki (Hotel Hell)_

_["WANT YOU NOW" BY DELANEY JANE](https://youtu.be/5MaFBpscI1A) _

_Song for Part Two: Sigyn (Closing Bell)_

_["THORNS" BY LUNA SHADOWS](https://youtu.be/yiwfaRekRl0) _

_NEW YEAR, SAME HABIT_ CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 11.

**AVAILABLE DECEMBER 19 AT FRIGIDIMMORTALS.COM**

(DECEMBER 25 HERE ON AO3)

* * *

CLOSING NOTES:

You probably didn't notice, which is fine, but I finally added chapter titles to this story. I don't know WHY it has taken so long for me to figure out what to call each one. Better late than never, I guess. Also, the words Loki tweeted in this one are lyrics from The Weeknd's song "Starboy", just FYI. I claim no ownership of those words in THAT order, though I wish I could. I love that song.

Soooo....we're getting close to the end now, aren't we. As I've said many times before, I hadn't intended for this story to be longer than two chapters at the start, but I have a habit of getting attached to my characters and refusing to let them go. Guess it doesn't matter now, does it? *shrugs* And since _New Year_ turned into a much bigger endeavor than I'd originally planned, I think it's fitting for me to close the page on Loki and Sig's story on "their" day...one year later to the _second-_ I will post the 12th (final) chapter on New Years Eve at midnight eastern standard (US) time. I'll probably cry when I hit the "post chapter" button on the literal second my fam yells "happy new year" and clinks champagne flutes. Then, I'm getting a midnight kiss from my man because I'm getting _stupidly_ sentimental over this story. It'll be my little ode to that countdown in times square in NYC that had Sigyn sobbing on her kitchen floor during those first minutes of 2020...you know...before she got that "are you awake" text from Loki.

I know it'll be Jan 1 for some readers, but if you're further west like I am, it'll still be Dec 31st. Either way, I hope you will _love_ the ending. I hope it will have been worth the wait. Now...if you want more of this whole "Loki-Starboy-writer-boy-dollar-in-the-jar-boy" AU that I started on a whim a year ago, (I assume you've enjoyed it if you've read 80K words atp), you're welcome to visit the _New Year, Same Habit_ page on my site. There's a _ton_ of extra content that I can't upload here because, even though ao3 is awesome *tips hat*, it doesn't give me the same format/page options. I'll be adding to that page for a while, guaranteed, because, folks, I'm telling ya, I can't say goodbye to these two characters. But alas, I must. At least on AO3. Time to move on, or technically "back", to finishing _Fearless Immortals,_ which has been on hiatus since _October 2019_ , good lord.

I'm keeping my "personal" commentary on this chapter to myself (I have so many feelings!) so as not to "tell" you what to think, but please do share _your_ thoughts on chapter 10 with me in the comments below. I've been slow in my responses, I know, but I absolutely will get back to you, especially now that I'm not struggling through depressing writer's block. If you love _New Year, Same Habit,_ make sure to hit that kudos button (always love those) and subscribe (or bookmark, whatever). You all rock, and I hope you're safe and well. <3 -Jen


	11. Do Not Go Gently (Run West, Boy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks and...um...HAPPY HOLIDAYS (and Merry Christmas, for those who celebrate it) :-) Listen, I'm not feeling especially happy (definitely not "merry"), BUT I feel that is worth saying this to those of you who appreciate the sentiment. I am glad to post Chapter 11 on the exact day that I'd said a would back in chapter 10. And I also kept my promise to publish this new chapter on my website (frigidimmortals.com) five days ago (as I said I would do), so *raises glass* Here's to keeping my word!

** *IMPORTANT NOTE: PLEASE READ (NO SPOILERS)* ** I can't safely assume that every reader will understand the back and forth conversation between Thor and Loki regarding typical Generation X ("Xer") tendencies, and nothing ruins a bit of comedic relief within a scene quite like not getting the joke references, so if you know next to nothing about Gen X (which I will not hold against you *hugs*), here is the basic definition: "Generation X (or Gen X for short) is the demographic cohort following the baby boomers and preceding the millennials. Researchers and popular media typically use birth years around 1965 to 1980 to define Generation Xers, although some sources use birth years beginning as early as 1960 and ending somewhere from 1977 to 1985." (wikipedia source) **For better understanding of their conversation/humor, especially those of you who aren't Xers (or Xennials, like myself) please consider skimming the first few paragraphs of the[Gen X wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generation_X) before you read CH 11. **Also referenced in this chapter are 2 _Nirvana_ songs: "[Smells Like Teen Spirit](https://youtu.be/JirXTmnItd4)" and "[Lithium](https://youtu.be/ZpiEunhVs9o)", and the band [Pearl Jam](https://youtu.be/3MutXUvS37k), so if you are unfamiliar with those and prefer having more background context when you read that part of the chapter, click on the song/band titles to go the youtube links of those songs, all of which have clean lyrics. You don't _need_ to listen to the songs (certainly not if you already know them). All you need to know is that they have that Seattle-based 90s grunge rock sound (typically all male, moody minor-chord melodies interspersed between growling, though not _screaming_ vocals, and angsty disillusioned themes). [This link](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/89/Dr_martens_boots.jpg) is an image of the fashion/brand DOC MARTENS boots that Thor mentions, again, just in case you don't know what he's talking about and want to know that. "Prozac Nation poster boy" is a reference to the 1994 book "Prozac Nation" written by Elizabeth Wurtzel, and I hope it's fairly easy to assume that this a jab about Loki's angsty/privileged-but-SAD/overly-self-aware personality. (FYI: It's already been mentioned in previous chapters, but as a reminder, in this AU, Thor was born in 1981, and Loki was born in 1983, which would fall into the "Xennial" category, NOT Xer) Oh, and the image below is my original digital art, which is a portrayal of Loki and Sig during the "happier times" of 2017 outside of Ground Support cafe in New York City. Alright, on to the feature presentation. Oh god. *deep breaths, deep breaths*

* * *

**Chapter 11: DO NOT GO GENTLY (RUN WEST, BOY)**

_Do not go gentle into that good night,_   
_Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_   
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._   
  
_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,_   
_Because their words had forked no lightning they_   
_Do not go gentle into that good night._   
  
_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright_   
_Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,_   
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._   
  
_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,_   
_And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,_   
_Do not go gentle into that good night._   
  
_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight_   
_Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,_   
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._   
  
_And you, my father, there on that sad height,_   
_Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray._   
_Do not go gentle into that good night._   
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_\- Dylan Thomas, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" (1947)_

__

_**~2:00 am, October 1, 2019 ~** _

Loki looked across the Mercer Kitchen downstairs bar, staring at Sigyn as she chatted with Carol. Idly swirling the black cocktail mixing straw in his whiskey and coke, he pursed his lips, one eyebrow raising a touch when his girl laughed at the apparently hilarious words coming out of her colleague’s mouth. Months ago, when he hadn’t been a lonely waste of space, he would have contained the knee-jerk jealous scoff that was presently escaping his lips. No, that wasn’t true, because it was an altogether false premise. Containment was hardly necessary when he’d felt secure in his relationship, when he wasn’t jealous and bitter about the whole damn thing.

Tonight was supposed to be _fun_. Well, according to Val- the one responsible for this “congrats on the go-ahead and two enthusiastic thumbs up from your editor on _Satellite Tides!”_ shindig -it would be fun, to which he’d deadpanned _“what is this word ‘fun’ of which you speak? Don’t know what that is.”_

He’d earned a shoulder jab for that one. Fair enough. Sulking during his own party was, in her words, the ultimate “Prince Petty” response, and that might have been the first time he’d ever thought _Prince Lo_ was a preferable moniker to anything. But he hadn’t given her, or anyone else, even the slightest indication that Sig had _everything_ to do with his _princely_ behavior, so how should Val know to be less offended at his rather pronounced permanent scowl?

This September had broken its already shitty record of being the absolute worst month of every year for two decades. Sure, he’d finished the book right on time, and more than that, his editor fawned over this one even more than her previous fawnings over _Starboy_ and _Looking for Sunlight_ , but at what cost? For the life of him, he didn’t know why the hell Sig had been so angry at him for focusing on his damn job when a deadline loomed ahead. She, of all people, knew that career-related “ _my income, and my editor’s income for that matter, hinge on MY ability to do this job as well, if not BETTER than, the predecessors_ ” level of stress. Here was a woman who'd refused to quit her job despite the sexual-harasser-in-chief lording over her, despite the sometimes seventy hour workweeks, despite the lack of paid bereavement leave, despite the fact that her loving boyfriend could float her through a new job search and had _offered_ to countless times.

As though that one architecture firm was the only one in New York. As though it was the highest paying one (newsflash: it wasn't!). As though every other boss would leer at her when she wore formfitting- though still professional -skirts, trousers, jackets... all of it. As though his father didn't have the powerful connections within the New York real estate industry to ensure Ms. Sigyn Frey received the best opportunities and clients. Good lord, even _he_ could set aside his monumental _daddy issues_ if it meant Sig was chosen to redesign one of the exhibits in MOMA's permanent collection, which _did_ happen by the way... in _July_.

Yes, despite wishing she would have crossed the Atlantic with him, despite feeling deep in his bones that she'd had other reasons for staying in New York that had _nothing_ to do with work, he'd set aside time every day of that tour to help accelerate _his girl's career goals_ , and she didn't even _know_ it. He knew better than to say he'd _helped_ her, to suggest that she might _owe him something_. Oh but he _wanted_ to tell her, in great detail, that while he'd been sleeping in different hotels every damn night in Europe, between the exhausting hours of book-signing and chatting and racking his brain for new charming quips for each and every fan to make them feel _special_ , he'd also been working behind the scenes with his father (via _Facetime_ , heaven help him) to arrange that top-notch, career opportunity of a lifetime for _her!_ So... you know... maybe she could cut him some slack for spending an excessive amount of time playing catch-up in _his own career_ during September.

It would feel good to throw it in her face, though. To, rather dramatically, prove just how absurd her "are you trying to make me abandon my career for you?" accusation was. She'd tossed that nonsense at him back in bloody _January_ when he'd shown up at her office after hours intent on helping her shut it down for the day. That had been the extent of it. She'd been working nonstop, and he'd missed her. He'd been a boyfriend who wanted to see his girlfriend for a bit more than one hour a day.

_THE HORROR._

And that had been only two weeks after he'd given her the literal FIRST hardback copy of Looking for Sunlight, no less. Oh but then he abandoned HER for an eight week book tour that he definitely wanted to go on, didn't he. How very inconsiderate of him. And even more inconsiderate- he gave her every waking hour when he came back, only to then punish her by taking back a few of those hours to be able to have Satellite Tides on his editor's desk by the September 28th agreed upon due date.

Still swirling his drink, he saw her glance at him once, twice, three times. Her cheeks were pink, perhaps from the unnecessary heat coming through the ceiling vents, or maybe it was his obvious staring. Did she like him staring? Was that an aroused blush or an embarrassed one? Did she think he was looking at her like this because he wanted to drag her into a restroom stall and pull her hair just right? Or did she know in her heart of cold hearts that he was more likely fuming that she never gave him an explanation for her hypocrisy, and that he was looking for that explanation somewhere on her face? He’d lost the will to verbally ask anymore, to wriggle the answer out of her skull after half-a-dozen attempts to meet her clearly impossible standard of “forever dream boy” by listening to her nonsensical ramblings-on about how he had changed. He'd also lost the will to sit there in silent reverence as though she’d just given him some enlightened gospel truth that ought to change him back to August Loki.

Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

Good god, it made him think that she must have written “August Loki” in a hidden diary somewhere, probably surrounded by hearts. And by contrast, she had no doubt turned a page and drawn a quick sketch of him with horns and scribbled “September Loki” all over the face. Bloody hell, 2019 had been more bipolar than the untreated version of himself. Eyes lifting to gaze sadly at the ceiling, he inhaled and exhaled slowly until he got that distinct dizzy feeling that always accompanied properly-executed anxiety breathing. He could not be more ready to bid farewell to this disaster of a year. He needed the relative stability of 2017 and 2018 to come back.

_Don’t let me down, 2020. BE KIND. PLEASE REWIND._

_Please give my girl and me a second chance._

His brother’s voice appeared next to his ear then, pulling his eyes away from the ceiling to focus on the blond gym rat standing next to him.

“Oh my god, brother, stop swirling that cocktail stick, or I’ll knock that drink out of your hand.”

Eyebrows pulling together, Loki blinked at him silently for a few moments before responding. “Cocktail stick?”

“Think he means the mixing straw.” It was JB’s voice on his other side, clearly amused, if the quiet snort from behind his palm over his mouth was any indication. “But you once told me that Thor Odinson was the most stick-obsessed person on the planet, so I guess it makes sense that he would call it a cocktail _stick_.”

Eyes on his brother, Loki smirked and leaned sideways toward JB, who leaned toward him in turn. “I feel like there are a thousand dick jokes to be made in response to this situation.”

Thor pointed at him. “Do _NOT_ mock the way I say-”

“Cocktail?” Loki raised his eyebrows. _“Hard_ emphasis on the ‘cock’ syllable?”

“The irony here is that the biggest goddamn prick in the room is you, _Prince_ Lo,” his brother retorted, tossing back a shot of tequila.

“Jesus,” Bucky laughed, pulling a hand down his face, then eyed Loki, “totally thought he said you had the biggest prick in the room, man.”

Coughing into his elbow, Thor’s nose scrunched up. “Ugh _VOMIT.”_

“Vomit, indeed,” Loki agreed, resuming the swirling of his “cocktail stick” (wow) with more force just to annoy the hell out of his brother. “Calling the trouser snake a ‘prick’ is even worse than... I don’t know…” he squinted down at the glass in his hand, looking for the non-existent punchline of this impromptu joke somewhere in the amber liquid. “Ummmm… calling it a… uh… vvvvv-” he lingered on the ‘v’, slightly distracted by the buzzing sensation that the sound created behind his teeth as they scraped over his bottom lip.

Thor leaned closer. “Vvvvvvv... what? Loki, are you having a stroke?”

_Yes. A joke stroke, to be specific._

Ignoring his brother, he continued buzzing the v too long. “Vvvvvv-elll…”

_Oh the ‘L’ is equally as fun, making my tongue trill like this, like when I kiss Sig, like when she says my name slowly against my mouth… “LLLLLLo-”_

Rolling his eyes, he licked his teeth and cleared his throat. He was not going to get caught up in the better times of the past. He was going to be _present_. Right here and now, he was going to finish this stupid joke.

“Worse than calling it the _vvvvelll-vet_... shaft of love,” he said, straight-faced for approximately two seconds before his aloof façade cracked, and he burst into a fit of hysterical laughing.

Thor grinned slightly, then raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “Fifty bucks says he stole that from a Buzzfeed ‘writing smut 101’ article after taking some stupid quiz for under-sexxed thirsty millenials.”

Lifting his hand up in front of Thor, Bucky opened his palm. “Might as well pay up, _bro_. Not to get overly graphic, but this one here-” he gestured to Loki with his thumb behind his shoulder “-is probably the least ‘under-sexxed’ of everyone in this room.”

Jaw clenching, Loki’s laughing mood flew out the door faster than his girl coming out of Ground Support on New Year’s Day a _thousand_ bloody years ago. His friend wasn’t wrong about his _excessively_ active sex life, and in another time, a comment like that would have put a smug smirk on his face. However, at present, it only reminded him of the sad reality of a dwindling _should-have-been-his-endgame_ relationship. They fought and fucked, sometimes literally both at once. If she wasn’t forcing his back against metaphorical walls with hurtful nonsense accusations of irrelevant this-and-thats, he was bruising her back against their bedroom walls, trying to force a love that he knew was sinking in the western sky to please, please, _please_ just stay above that imminent-death horizon for a bit longer.

_I would have done anything for her._

_Correction: I did EVERYTHING for her._

He heard Thor say, “Ooooh, has my baby brother been triggered? Did my joke strike a sex nerve with Star-” He stopped talking abruptly and cringed. “Ick, oh I seriously regret having putting the word ‘sex’ in front of _nerve.”_

“We all regret that you did that, pal,” Bucky said, leaning over the bar a bit to flag down the bartender. When he caught her eye, he held up his drink and mouthed “one more” while tapping the glass. He turned back to face the Odinson brothers who were caught in a frowning contest with each other. “You two should go back to the dumb stick jokes. They seemed-” he raised an eyebrow at Loki “ _-safer_ , somehow.”

Snapping his fingers twice, Thor pointed at his brother’s face so closely, he nearly poked the tip of his nose. “What was that one about sticks and stealing cars or something?”

Eyes narrowing, Loki slapped the hand away from his face. “Are you referring to the ‘stick shifts are millennial anti-theft devices’ quip I made when I borrowed your car this summer?”

“Ooh nice one,” Bucky said, taking a sip of the fresh old-fashioned that he’d just grabbed from the bar as Loki shrugged.

_Not exactly my original material but whatever._

Head shaking, Thor whistled under his breath. “By the way, that joke would sting if us early 80s babies weren’t now called Xennials inst-”

“ _We_ early 80s babies,” Loki cut him off, clucking his tongue. “ _Us_ is an _object_ pronoun, but you used it as the _subject_ of a clause. Pesky personal pronouns can be such a _bitch_ to master for the simple-minded.”

His big brother didn’t miss a beat. “Simple-minded is preferable to whatever the hell is going on in that space between _your_ ears. You have _always_ been a bit of a disillusioned, Prozac Nation poster boy, but you were less _moody_ before Harvard. I told Mum your excessive schooling would give you RBF.”

“Wow,” Loki snorted softly, setting his elbow on the counter and leaning on it. “All this time I thought she must have dropped you on your head as a baby, when in actuality you _chose_ to be a paint-chip-eating-moron.” He brought the whiskey and coke (mostly whiskey) to his lips and took a small sip. “This explains why you are so blithely optimistic that people outside of _Xennial_ Twitter have validated the existence of our special little microgeneration.” Another sip. “You might be pushing 40, Thor, but you will be lumped in with current 25-year olds for at least another decade.” He reached up to pull the black Wayfarer sunglasses from their place on the top of his head down onto his nose and flashed a smile. “Deal with it.”

“ _You_ fucking deal with it, you walking meme of a man,” Thor scoffed, straightening the zippered collar of his acid-wash blue denim jacket.

Eyes following his brother’s movements, Loki made a face. How had he only just now noticed it? _Acid-wash? GOD._ All “designer” parties responsible for that trend, both past and present, should receive life sentences for their crimes against humanity. Thor interrupted his homicidal musings, his voice as loud and unappealing as that jacket.

“I won’t be lumped in with 20-somethings. I’ll just add _Gen Xer_ to my Twitter biography. Problem solved,” he said, smirking as he pulled his phone out of the inside pocket of the highly offensive jacket and opened the app.

Sliding his sunglasses down a touch, Loki looked sideways at him. “You might as well add _stable genius_ while you’re at it, you clown. One cannot be a golden retriever in human form _and_ be an Xer.”

“True story,” Bucky agreed, patting Loki on the back twice.

Scratching his chin, Thor gazed up at the pendant lights hanging over the bar. “So _that’s_ why every woman wants to pet me.”

“Oh look, JB, he made a joke,” Loki droned, eyes rolling as his brother laughed. He pushed his sunglasses back up on top of his head and took another sip, shifting his stance, so he could see Sigyn more easily. He missed her. He was pissed with her too, of course. But he still missed her. He couldn’t help it.

_This helluva drug girl._

“I’m closer to being an Xer than you,” Thor said, smiling when his brother’s gaze slid back to him.

Fighting to keep his jaw from flat out unhinging at that ludicrous statement, Loki inclined his chin slightly. “Says the happy puppy, his tongue lolling out and tail wagging excitedly, directly after calling me a disillusioned, _Prozac Nation_ poster boy.”

“So I never had a manic Monday like _some_ people-” his brother waved a hand at him “-doesn’t mean I didn’t listen to Nirvana just as much as you did, Loki.”

“Name _one_ Nirvana song other than 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'.”

Looking sideways, Thor squinted. “There was...ah…started with an L, I think...Liddy something? Liddy Yum?”

Loki stared blankly at him.

_Dear. God._

“Either you do not know them well enough to remember the song title,” he said, swiping his drink off the counter and finishing the last of it in one go, “or more likely, you just can’t pronounce the word _Lithium.”_

“I don’t know how you deal with the side effects,” Thor muttered, giving him a pitying look.

“I don’t know how I’m dealing with this conversation with only _one_ drink.” Loki set the glass down with more force than necessary. A second later, a server behind the counter hurried over and took the empty tumbler, then produced a new one for him from behind her back. He blinked, somewhat dumbfounded by this woman’s attentiveness, which seemed to be reserved exclusively for him.

She leaned toward him and answered his unspoken question. “Just looking after the star of the show,” she explained, tossing him a wink over her shoulder as she walked away to attend to other customers.

“The _dying_ star of the show, maybe,” he grumbled to himself, feeling a bit guilty for staring at her backside in those _extremely_ flattering jeans. Shaking it off, he turned toward his brother again. “Not that it’s your business, but I take an anticonvulsant, not lithium.”

“Well _that’s_ proof enough that you are not a proper Xer.”

“Oh we’re back on that now,” Loki said flatly. “I’m overjoyed.”

“You should be,” Thor said, pointing his bottle of microbrew (Loki knew _that_ one tasted like absolute piss) at his brother. “And my real proof that I _am_ an Xer-”

_This should be good._

“-is that I had Doc Martens _and_ a Pearl Jam CD.”

Loki gave him a look. “You mean the one you stole from Hela’s discman to impress one of her flannel-obsessed friends from uni?”

“Noooo, that can’t be right.” Thor shook his head. “CDs were barely a thing then. Hela had a _cassette_ Walkman.”

“CDs were _barely a thing?”_ Loki repeated, blinking several times at the man.

_Okay, just how drunk is my dimwit brother?_

He shook his head, eyes rolling yet again. “Hela graduated in _‘93_ , not _‘83._ Good god, Thor, your memory loss leads me to think you are more _boomer_ than anything else.”

“You are such a goddamn brat,” Thor laughed out loud, slapping Loki’s shoulder _just_ this side of too-painful. “It would feel so good to punch you, but our big sis would gut me for it. She adores you for some reason.”

“No, she adores me for _thousands_ of reasons,” Loki corrected him, “and she wouldn’t _gut_ you. She’d just give you a lobotomy and throw you in a padded cell infested with rats.”

“I think I’d rather be gutted.” Thor shivered. “Rats are terrifying. I swear I can hear them squeaking my name. Thor...Thooooor…”

_How drunk is this dimwit, you ask? Hmm… hundred bucks says this moron throws up in five minutes. In the women’s restroom. In a sink. Then cries because he can’t figure out how to flush it._

“That’s because someone _is_ yelling your name, genius.” Loki pointed to the girl trying to get his brother’s attention on the other side of the bar “Namely, your pint-sized girlfriend.” She was waving at him, probably while standing on a box so she could see over the counter. 

His brother turned to look. “Ohhhhh,” he drew out the word, then laughed hard enough to throw his balance off. Still laughing, he grabbed the counter to catch himself. “I’m relieved it’s not rats.”

“Yes, you dodged quite a bullet,” he droned, watching the man’s back for a moment as he walked away, swaying and unsteady on his feet, but not so unsteady as to fall.

Talk about a missed opportunity. That would have been beyond entertaining, and he needed something to _genuinely_ laugh about. Still leaning on his elbow, he sighed and set his chin in his palm. JB spoke suddenly, making Loki jump since he’d forgotten his friend was next to him.

“I got ‘a great image in my head now of that guy jumping up on a chair and screaming at his teeny tiny girl to kill the rat on the ground,” he said, eyes closing as he laughed and pulled a hand down his face.

“You joke, JB, but that has actually happened. Not with little Janey over there, though,” Loki clarified, flicking his fingers in her general direction. “No, it was his ex who swatted at one with a broom while he did exactly that,” he said, stopping mid-sentence to taste-test his second drink of the night.

_Oh that was a mistake._

Before he could swallow that stupidly huge gulp of _FIRE_ , which was _all_ parts whiskey and _zero_ parts coke apparently, the absurd memory started playing like a comedy-gold film reel, causing him to choke on a laugh bubbling up in his chest. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he pressed his lips together, trying to collect himself so he could tell the story without spewing a _lovely_ cocktail of hard liquor and saliva in his friend’s face. After a good twenty seconds, he successfully drained it, and exhaled long and slowly through his mouth.

Rubbing his watering eyes, he finally said, “That overgrown blond baby jumped on a chair when that rat scurried out from behind his refrigerator.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Loki croaked, still rubbing his eyes. “He exploded up onto that chair and landed so heavily that the legs actually splintered and broke, and I kid you not, he landed on his ass like something straight out of a goddamn ‘hold my beer’ compilation.”

“That did not happen.” Bucky shook his head resolutely.

Loki held his hands up. “Saw it with my own eyes. I swear. You remember that time he came to our gym, coincidentally during one of _our_ training sessions last year?”

“Yeah, he was filming that grass-fed whey protein promotional thing with Sam. Why?”

“Do you remember Sam asking what the hell was wrong with Thor’s box jumps? That he looked like he thought the box would, quote, drop him harder than a Zedd hook?”

“Holy fuck- the chair traumatized him. Should we get some PTSD therapy going for him?”

“I would love to be a fly on the wall in his therapist’s office when that story comes up. No doubt he would defend his absurd overreaction by explaining a truly _horrifying_ event from earlier that day. You see, his _car_ had stalled out on _him,_ and as we all know, it is impossible that _he_ simply fucked up and stalled the engine with overzealous clutch work and heavy-handed shifting… no no no. Therefore, the unfortunate rat chair debacle must have occurred _only_ because he was extra… _jumpy…_ now that his baby was at the car hospital, and don’t you understand that the rat was an omen representing the car doctor’s inability to properly lubricate her gearbox.”

“You are making this shit up. He did not say ‘baby’ or ‘car hospital’ or ‘car doctor’ and he definitely did not say _‘properly lubricate her gearbox’_ in any context ever.”

“Believe it or not, JB, my brother is even more stick-obsessed than you and me.”

 _“_ I’m havin’ major deja vu right now, Lo.”

Loki tilted his head, squinting at his friend. “Have we had this conversation before?”

JB took a long swig of his drink, then nodded and licked his lips. “Yup. June. M3. On the way to montauk. Ended with you sayin’ you graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in ‘word wizardry or some shit’ ...I think.”

Both men chuckled at the memory as Loki’s phone dinged at him. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed it and opened the phone with his thumbprint. Focusing on the text that had popped up, he pursed his lips.

**_Hela: You just keep them on their boringly stable toes, love._ **

The words blurred in his vision, and he blinked several times, squinting at the screen. Just as he started to think he might need to schedule an appointment with an optometrist, he realized the phone was moving… or vibrating, more like. He frowned, confused by the damn thing, which he’d set to “never vibrate” for a _reason_. He hated that buzzing sound. It sounded like the inside of his skull, and he hardly needed some wireless electronic gadget to add to the noise.

“You ok, Lo man?”

Still frowning, Loki looked up at JB whose eyebrows were raised in concern.

“Phone’s acting up,” he mumbled, setting it down into his friend’s waiting hand. “Is it vibrating or something?”

JB shrugged, playing around with it. “I’m no iPhone expert because I am an Android man through and through, but...it’s definitely not vibrating. The apps all work. Sounds on. Is the software updated?”

Loki nodded. “Just did. This morning. September 30th, 2019 at 2:07am. I remember the time because the bright screen lit up my bedroom and woke me up from a sex dream.”

“Two things.” JB held up one finger. “One: if that’s the first thing that the newest software did with its time in the simulation-“

“Don’t start with the simulation crap again-“

“-then you should burn it for being a minion of Satan who is obviously controlling the architect.”

_I don’t want to hear the word “architect” ever again…_

“And two-“ JB held up a second finger “-technically that was yesterday. Today is October 1st. Also-“ another swig “-I think your hand is shaking pretty bad. That’s why it seems like it’s vibratin’ or whatever.”

Loki looked at his hand and scowled at his fingers. Wrist too. And arm. And shoulder. Neck. Everything was shaking. Hela’s text was a response to his last message- the one he’d sent after slamming the doors of Sig’s building on his way here tonight.

“Aren’t Harvard alums supposed to be smart?” JB snorted.

Loki couldn’t think of anything clever, so a gruff “ _fuck you”_ was all the _comeback_ (not so much) JB heard. “Um, speaking of Harvard alums,” Loki said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but my sister is texting me, and I need to respond.”

“Sure, Lo man,” Bucky said, swallowing the last bit of the old-fashioned from his tumbler then squinted at the empty bottom. “I need a refill anyway.”

As his friend walked to the bar, Loki weaved through a sea of bodies to get to the exit. He was shaking for a reason. He wanted a smoke. Scratch that- he _needed_ one. He hadn’t had one since Paris, and he hadn’t craved another until now. The unbearable weight of his manuscript was finally no longer crushing him, and in the email that his editor sent this morning- _Re: LO Novel 3 Satellite Tides_ -she’d been more than a little complimentary:

_“Both Starboy and Looking for Sunlight focus heavily on unmoving lights in the sky that we can’t help but run circles around, and I assumed your third effort would be an even more focused progression- a maturation, if you will -of that theme, but instead, you crashed on Earth’s surface and focused on the lights in the sky that are running circles around YOU. My jaw is on the floor, Loki. Verdict?- Stunning. Can’t wait to see Satellite Tides on the shelf.”_

Holding his phone in one hand and his lighter in the other, he pushed through the doors and walked to the other side of the street before removing the yellow pack of American Spirits from his jacket pocket. He flipped the top open, pulled out the last one, and put it to his lips. After lighting it, he leaned back against whatever building was behind him- restaurant or retailer or something…he didn’t know, nor did he care. The brick was nice and warm though, so that was good. He stared blankly ahead, watching people move in and out of the restaurant across the street where his friends were, presumably, enjoying themselves. He should feel light as a feather after that raving review from his editor, but he didn’t. Eyes closing, he leaned his head back against the brick and focused on the smell of smoke.

_Oh Starboy- don’t you know those are bad for you?_

Another drag. Another exhale.

_Yep. I know. Very bad._

Drag. Exhale. Drag. Exhale. He frowned then at the sound of his name, and lifted his head to look around. It wasn’t a familiar voice, which meant it was someone who recognized him but he didn’t know them, and he refused to sign anything or take pictures when he felt like this. Goddammit- why wasn’t this cigarette doing its job? No one should be able to see him behind a cloud of smoke, _and_ the smell was supposed to deter them! 

He looked down at his phone and texted his sister with one thumb.

**_Loki: Oh absolutely. I’ve no doubt they LOVE the spontaneous whiplash I provide. Also, “boringly stable” sounds magnificent._ **

**_Hela: That helluva drug girl didn’t fall for a “boringly stable” man, so, maybe stop wishing it away._ **

His eyes nearly popped out his skull. “What the fu…” he trailed off to growl under his breath instead as he tapped his response.

**_Loki: What even...I can’t...what kind of bullshit take is THAT? I need head meds to not OFF myself after the delusional rush of tripping on my own goddamn chemicals for two straight months wears off- when all that’s left of me isn’t even ME, but just carbon moving through empty space in the shape of something resembling someone who answers to the name Loki Odinson._ **

**_Loki: But sure- I’ll stop wishing that this suffocating, stifling, Sartre-esque hell would stop knocking on my mental front door every few months for DECADES because MAYBE my girl wouldn’t have given me a second glance if I wasn’t a bit...moody._ **

Her response was immediate. It was as though she’d written it prior to his text because she’d known what he would say.

**_Hela: Could you just, for once, not DEFINE yourself by that thing you ‘need head meds’ for, LO? Is that ALL you are? Do you think that is all SHE sees?_ **

Head shaking, he scoffed. “Try looking at the bright side, huh? Piss off, sis.”

_**Loki: Not interested in looking for silver linings right now, thanks.** _

He sent the text and started typing a new one. Talking about Sig made him want to punch something. Burn something. Break something. Yes, he wanted to break anything and everything because his girl was breaking _HIM_.

**_Hela: Loki-_ **

**_Loki: Listen, I’ve had too much to drink, and it’s making me anything but excited to talk about Sig, so I think we should just talk later._ **

**_Hela: Okay, Loki love. Please drink lots of water._ **

Eyes rolling, he typed his last text.

**_Loki: Thanks for the advice, Dr. Odinson. Bye now._ **

After one final drag from the poison between his fingers, he tossed the cigarette butt on the ground, and squashed the cherry with the toe of his boot. Looking both ways, he crossed the street again, downright ignoring the person (or group of persons...whatever) who had said his name. And speaking of his name, as soon as he pushed through the doors again, he heard Val say it, and when he looked up, she was waving him over to the corner of the bar where his closest friends were gathered. As he approached them, he forced a smile for Val’s sake. She raised her glass and cleared her throat when he came to a stop at the outer edge of the group.

“A toast to this man right here,” she said, absolutely _beaming_ as she pointed to him, “a man for whom I would take thousands of bullets.”

He felt his jaw tighten reflexively, the muscles behaving as though on auto-pilot, and he swallowed, trying to relax his face. Dammit- Another dollar, boy.

“When most people see you, Loki, I think they see nothing but excessive privilege- "

_I mean... they aren't WRONG._

" -come on, look at you, boy!” She gestured up and down the length of his body. “You check all those obvious ‘success’ boxes. That said, those people don’t know you like I do. I know the odds of survival weren’t in your favor, hon. The mental deck was stacked against you in ways that none of these lovable morons will ever know, but _I_ know because I have been with you _by choice_ every step of the way for three decades.”

Oh god. He might need to fake a sneeze to cover up the growing _lake_ in his eyes, and for all he knew, Val might talk for another ten minutes.

“I’m showing my age here, but-” she waved a hand and chuckled “-whatever. Listen, I don’t remember much from the 80s, but everything I _do_ remember from then centers around Loki. I was five years old in 1988 when I met a boy who would become my forever best friend.”

Maybe the floor would be thoughtful enough to open up right under his feet.

“Awwwww,” Thor patted his head, and Loki swatted him away as Val continued speaking of him as though he deserved the world just for being _him_.

_If only Sig felt the same..._

“I was too little to know ‘I’m going to hang out with this boy every chance I get for decades’, but I did know that you were _so_ fun, and you were definitely on a _different_ level. I couldn’t put it into words obviously. I still can’t. I’m not a critically-acclaimed writer like _some_ people. I just knew I liked being around you so much. For instance-”

“Ohhhhhh we gettin’ stories ‘bout Starboy now,” Sam said, wiggling one eyebrow at him.

Before he had the chance to say “I WILL CUT YOU” in his most venomous tone, Val spoke over him. “For instance,” she repeated herself, shooting a glare at Sam, “when when my nan threw a little birthday shindig for me at her house, complete with presents and pudding and my mates from school and family that I actually _liked_ , I cried during the entire hour long drive to the party and continued to mope when we got there because I just wanted to go to Loki’s house and play on the tire swing and climb trees and watch _Princess Bride_ and have pretend sword fights with him. He was Westley, and I was Inigo Montoya because he looked better with a little ponytail, and I wanted to be able to say _‘I want my father back, you son of a bitch’_ in a well-executed Spanish accent.”

Loki dragged both hands down his face. “Oh my god, Val, please stop.”

“It’s true! Five year old Val Keri Brunna only wanted to be around this new tricky Loki kid. No matter the cost. And that _never_ changed. I felt like I was dying when he moved to the states with his family. He is the reason I moved to New York. I wish it hadn’t taken thirteen years for me to make it happen-”

_I wish Sig loved me as much as you do, Val._

“-but I did get here eventually. And you know what, Lo? If I wasn’t here now, if I was still in England, you better believe I’d still be doing everything in my power to get across the goddamn pond. To get back to my best friend for life. To get back to the guy who all those twats insisted that I was in love with but just didn’t know it. Jesus, how many times does a girl have to say _‘I’m ONLY attracted to girls’_ before it hits them that I’m not lying?”

Despite feeling like a pathetic, undeserving thing, he chuckled, then gestured to Carol with his chin. “They might believe you are into girls when you get married to one on December 8.”

Once again, his best friend beamed at him, radiating warmth and happiness, and he hated himself for wishing that smile was coming from someone else. Someone who wouldn’t stick by his side for three decades like Val had. Someone who couldn’t even give him three _years_.

“Jealous, are we? Don’t worry, hon,” she said, smile still in place, “you’ll get married to one soon enough. I’m sure of it.”

_Oh shit. Oh no._

His eyes flicked toward Sigyn, and for a split-second, he _thought_ he saw the corners of her mouth curve upward. As soon as he saw it though, it disappeared. As did she. As in, turned her back on him, zig-zagged through the crowd, and bolted up the stairs leading to the Prince Street exit. Mouth falling open, he stared after her. He was vaguely aware of Val’s voice coming closer to him, but it was hard to hear over the sudden ringing in his ears. Oh god, he was going to be sick.

“Lo? Hon? You okay? What happened? Is Sigyn okay? That was...that was supposed to be a joke, hon. I’m so sorry.” A pause, a different voice- this one sounded tinny, like a voice over the phone - another pause, then Val spoke again, though not _to_ him. “No, I don’t know what happened to him. He just...froze.” Her hand was on his arm, shaking him a bit. “I’m trying to, Hela! Lo, hon, please. Did you take something? Xans?”

_For hell’s sake, NO, I didn’t take a Xan. But I SHOULD HAVE._

“Smoke something?”

_Yeah, a LEGAL cig, and it did NOTHING._

“Loki?? ANSWER ME. Are you starting to OD on me? Oh my god. Shit. Hey, Bucky? Did you see him take anything? Did he use your pen or something??”

“What? Hell no, I didn’t let him use my pen, and he wouldn’t take it if I offered. He won’t go near anythin’ with THC in it. All I saw him have was two drinks… maybe? Hey, come on, Lo man, talk to me. Darcy, hey where’d Sigyn go?”

_Away from ME, that’s where._

“She said she felt sick, then she left to go home.”

_My girl is gone. I’ve lost my girl. Oh my god, this isn’t happening..._

“You let her go alone?? Jesus, doll, it’s two in the goddamn mornin’!”

“Woah, calm the hell down, _Buck-O_. She didn’t give me more than five seconds notice, alright? And her building’s only three blocks from here. Four-minute walk tops!”

“Yeah well, lot can go wrong in four minutes.”

“Come _on,_ Bucky, it’s _Soho_ , not a damn war zone.”

_Prince Street IS my war zone._

“Complacency like that will turn any place into a war zone, doll. Trust me.”

_Does he mean American foreign policy? Or when falling in love with Sigyn Frey blows up in my face three months shy of three years later? - the latter being the more destructive of the two, of course._

“I can vouch for him on that.” Was that Sam?

This was… this was awful. There were too many voices, each one muddling horribly with the next and worsening his own cacophonous internal screaming for Sig to _PLEASE COME BACK!_ God, could everyone stop talking?!

“Ugh. Shut. Up. Sam.” Lewis? Chatty Kathy herself? Annoyed with someone for not shutting it?

_THANK YOU, LEWIS._

“Lady, I got shot over there too. Scars to prove it. My wingman was killed in a supposed _‘safe zone’_ , so sit your princess-ass down.”

_Not all scars are visible, Sam._

“Oh my god, _one_ soldier I can handle. I’m not listening to this shit from _two_ of you.” Heels clicked loudly on the stairs. Probably Lewis.

“Wait… where’re you goin’?!”

“Anywhere but here!”

_Don’t let her leave, JB. Don’t watch her walk away. You’ll regret it forever._

“Is that my sister on the phone?” It was Thor’s voice.

His skull was going to explode any moment now. Two versions of Loki Odinson stood in Mercer Kitchen. The visible and invisible. The façade and the truth. Illusion and reality. The former, surrounded by a group of humans who loved him for no bloody reason, was frozen in place, still as a statue, save for the barely-there rising and falling of his chest, wide gaze stuck on the red exit sign over the doors at the top of those stairs. They couldn’t see the real Loki, and that was for the best. _Real_ Loki had a vice-like grip on his head, his fingers splaying as they dug into his scalp. Leaky, red eyes were pinched shut, and his jaw was on the floor, allowing the wretched sound of a shattered heart screaming in agony to escape from the prison made of bones, not bars, surrounding his chest.

_On October 1st, 2019, I was a 36-year-old loaded gun, a bottle of Oxy, a noose around the neck, a razor to the wrist…_

_And she won’t save me this time._

“Here, hand it to me.” Thor again.

_Goddamn LOUDMOUTH._

“Hela? Yeah, it’s Thor. I know you know. Yes… no… what do they look like? Blue, oval-shaped… does he keep them in… okay… she said to check for a pack of spearmint gum… sorry… an _empty_ pack. Are they in his pocket? Wait, front or back? Oh… jacket… uh he’s not wearing a jacket.”

He felt someone shoving their hands in his trouser pockets. They had to be Val’s hands, right? “Phone. Keys. Wallet.” He heard her scoff before she lowered her voice. “Flip-knife. Hate that thing. Shouldn’t even have it in here.” Yes, they were Val’s hands, and her pointy little fingers were digging into his skin under the fabric. “Nope, no gum. Loki, hon, do I need to take you to a hospital? _Answer_ me, or I swear I will.”

He finally found his voice. “I’m not fucking OD’ing.”

_Still feels like dying though._

How fitting for a _dying_ star boy. Had Sig said _“I swear I won’t let you die, Starboy”_ or was that just something he’d written in a stupid book? Either way, he couldn’t breathe in this place that was technically a basement, where everyone was crowding him and touching him, and their concerned voices had his blood _boiling_ under his skin. _Real_ Loki was trying to break free, and he couldn’t let them see the truth. Shrugging out of Val’s hold, he pushed through the crowd, ran up the stairs, and out the door.

“Oh my god, Loki!” She was on his heels, grabbing his elbow as he burst out onto Prince Street a few blocks east of the building that he needed to get to _now_. War zone or not, bloodied and bruised and beaten half to death or not, he wasn’t laying down his arms without one last fight.

Ignoring his best friend, he turned right and started walking… _fast_.

“Lo? LO! Tell me what the hell is wrong!” She tugged harder on his elbow. If not for the adrenaline, he’d realize how tight her grip was, maybe even feel the finger-shaped bruises forming under his skin.

How poetic that Sig’s apartment was _west_ of here. Sunrise was five hours from now, but even if that star were showing its brilliant face over that horizon this second, he was walking _away_ from it. He was going in the wrong direction, trying to be kind and _rewind_ the tape to the beginning of 2017, or at least to the halfway mark- back to 2018, when he’d written a 350-page novel for someone he couldn’t live without. For his _sunlight_. He halted mid-step, eyes moving from their intense focus on the pavement up to the light-polluted October night sky over New York City instead. So many clouds… _only_ clouds. No stars, no moon. Just artificial lights from the concrete jungle below.

“Thank god,” Val breathed, loosening her grip as he stopped. “Where are you going, and will you let me help you get there? I need to know you’re somewhere _safe_ , Lo.”

His gaze lowered from the dull, thick layer of flat, lifeless, stagnant, grey clouds, and he turned to frown at her.

_Safe? What place is SAFE?_

“Maybe east is safe,” he said, barely loud enough for her to hear it. He looked at the pavement again. “ _Safer_ , that is.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “What? I don’t understand. You’re freaking me out, hon. Did something happen with her? Oh my god… did she _hurt_ you?”

Lifting his eyes to hers once more, he shook his head.

_Not the way you mean, Val._

Her shoulders relaxed, looking more than a little relieved, but after several silent seconds, she faltered. “Are you going to hurt her?”

Keeping his unblinking eyes on hers, he didn’t respond- verbally, that is. Could one _feel_ their eyes turn dark? As in, was it possible for him to see a shadow where it shouldn’t be, appear right in front of his face? He swallowed, his jaw hurting from clenching it too hard.

“Lo,” Val’s voice turned a shade darker than the shade he imagined his eyes to be, “are you planning to hurt Sigyn?”

His fingers twitched.

_I think I will, yes._

“Of course not,” he said, pocketing his hands lest they give away his _true_ answer by curling into fists.

_Welcome to Prince Street. Here we make love and make war on repeat until we collapse in on ourselves like the dying stars we romanticized in our “live fast, die right” love-turned-horror story._

“Are you lying to me?” she pressed.

Bending to her eye level, he pressed back. “Depends on your definition of ‘hurt’, Val.”

If not for the headlights of a taxi reflecting on the shop windows across the street as it turned the corner from Mercer onto Prince just then, he wouldn’t have seen the tears shining in her eyes. The hazy beams glowed behind her back, creating a befitting and timely halo for this absolute _angel_ , and swallowing the lump in his throat, he yanked his hands out of his pockets and threw his arms around her neck. She hugged him back without hesitation, squeezing his ribs so tightly, he could barely breathe.

“I mean _physically,”_ she croaked into his neck. “The man I know wouldn’t do that, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly against her temple, keeping his mouth there for another minute or so until she loosened her hold on him. He started to step away, but she grabbed the back of his neck with both hands, and he instinctively dropped his forehead to hers.

“You’re worth drowning for, hon,” she said shakily, “anyone who doesn’t feel that deep in her bones doesn’t deserve you, okay? Don’t ever forget that.”

Before he could protest, before he could say how he couldn’t agree to those terms because what if the _one_ girl he wanted would _not_ drown for him?- before he could say how fucking _terrified_ he was of that all-too-real possibility, Val pressed her lips to his cheek, just outside the corner of his mouth. Oh god… he _knew_ it was a harmless kiss, certainly meant to be platonic, but she lingered just a touch too long, and his body was responding a touch too _well_ to the combination of her soft lips and that genuine _love_ in her voice.

_This is my best friend. Best FRIEND._

Mirroring her stance, he put a hand on her neck, then turned his head slightly toward her face so he could kiss the opposite corner of her mouth.

_Oh my god, this feels good._

Technically, they were kissing each other’s cheeks, but if either of them moved one centimeter to the left… god DAMN. It would be everything he wanted. Nothing but warmth and love. No fighting. No frustration. No fear that he was just a really good fuck, and that was _all_ he was good for anymore.

_Oh my god, I need to step back._

No, if she felt uncomfortable, then _she_ could step back. This wasn’t cheating. He wasn’t cheating. He was _not_ cheating on his girlfriend with his best friend, and Val sure as hell wasn’t cheating on her soon-to-be _wife_ with him. He was only returning a friend’s affection.

_Step BACK, you vulnerable fool._

He stepped closer instead, allowing himself this one moment to pretend she was _his_ girl. To imagine that Val didn’t just love him, but was _in love_ with him. To imagine that she _wanted_ him- that she could want any _man_ at all, and that she would have chosen him out of all the three-and-a-half billion other available options. To imagine that _he_ wanted _her_. To imagine that this glorified peck on the cheek was about to turn into a toe-curling liplock, complete with open mouths, and tongues, and her hands in his hair, and down his trousers like they damn well _should_ be. To imagine that this was Sigyn Elena Frey, and that she thought he was worth drowning for.

_If you are THIS desperate for Sig, then let Val go, turn WEST, and don’t stop until you unlock the door of that third floor apartment with the gold number eight on it._

Dropping his hand from her neck, he clenched his jaw and _finally_ stepped back. “Sorry. I crossed a line there,” he said, reaching up to rub his temples.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, squinting at him, clearly confused. “What? A kiss on the cheek? I mean, people who don’t know us and saw that could interpret it as something else, I guess, but Carol wouldn’t be-”

“I crossed _my_ line, Val,” he spoke over her, giving her a withering look.

Her mouth fell open. “Lo, I’m so sorry. God, I didn’t mean it like that at _all_.”

“I know,” he said, taking another step back and turning around again- turning _west_.

He was walking the wrong way. Pushing against the natural turning of this planet. The turning of _time_ itself. Trying to force that second hand to tick counterclockwise. Giving the universe a middle finger, telling it to fuck right off with it’s forced _linear_ timeline in this awful 3-dimensional cage. If the “right” way was constantly spinning east to west, 24 hours, 7 days, 52 weeks, each subsequent “new” year forcing more silver in his hair and more lines around his eyes, but didn’t do so while allowing Sig to walk beside him in the process, then bloody hell, he refused to go the _right_ way.

He didn’t need to go back to 2017 if the typical “backward” was _his_ “forward”, yes? One foot in _front_ of the other could be all kinds of wrong for _him_. He was so well-skilled at driving in reverse gear, after all. Whipping _back_ into a street spot was as natural to him as going 90 on the highway while whipping around all those speed-limit-sticklers. Shifting _up_ into 6th required pulling the stick _back_ , did it not? Perhaps he was born with a propensity toward chaos that wouldn't allow him to live by the _proper_ laws of physics.

His legs were taking him closer to Sig’s building, and he didn’t care if that was right or wrong, forward or backward. What did that matter anyhow? Who decided what any of these polar opposites meant in the first place? Up was down. Down was up. Or maybe up and down didn’t exist at all. Maybe they did, but _he_ only existed in the space _between_. Maybe Sig did too. Maybe everything else other than that in between was a distraction for their combined consciousness to have a feeling of _going places,_ to keep them from feeling lost in a fog leading _nowhere_. Maybe those ups and downs- those highs and lows, the rapid shifting of gears, the rolls and the crashes -were invented by their own minds to help them cope with the fear of _normalcy_.

Maybe _that_ was her problem with him. Maybe January 1st 2017 hadn’t been the beginning for _her_. Maybe it had simply been the start of her _ending,_ and she’d only just now realized it, and was running for her life. He’d drawn her into him like a charismatic villain. The good girl was charmed into a fast car with the archetypal bad boy. He’d been exciting as hell, and she hadn’t understood why, but _now_ she knew. Now she’d seen the mania sending him to the stars to live like a god- to live like a _star_ boy -only to then blast him with a heavy dose of reality that kicked him right back to the pull of Earth’s relatively weak, but still _lethal_ , gravity.

_Oh my GOD, get out of your head, or you’ll turn east like a goddamn coward._

“Your body is right here next to me, but your mind is in outer space, Starboy,” he whispered to himself, repeating the words she’d said to him in her doctor’s office in May.

Shit- the tears filling his eyes had to be saltier than the Dead Sea.

_DEAD Sea?!_

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathed, rubbing his burning, _dead_ eyes as his legs continued moving of their own volition. His head really was out there with those dying stars, wasn’t it...

All he had to do was keep walking west. Just focus on the sound of his boots on the pavement rather than any of these angsty postmodern metaphors bouncing around inside his skull. Just don’t get lost in the word tornadoes.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. West. West. West. West. West. He wouldn’t let the sun dip below that horizon. He would chase it west until his legs gave out on him.

_But...it’s been dark for hours, LO. The sun already set… yesterday… in September._

_Yeah well, it’s been October for two hours now, and MY sun is in that building ten feet away, and I’m not letting her go._

_Not without a fight._

“Do not go gentle into that good night…” he said, pushing through her doors, completely unaware that he was making sounds with his mouth, that he was speaking words from the most heartbreaking poem of all time. Hand on the railing, he climbed the stairs two at a time, saying each word on beat with his steps.

“Do.” Step. “Not.” Step. “Go.” Step. “Gentle.” Step. “In-” step “-to.” Step. “That.” Step. “Good.” Step. "Night."

“Rage...rage against the dying of the light…”

Third floor. Last step. Round the corner. There’s the gold number eight. That’s her door.

_Dear god, BREATHE, boy._

Pulling his keys out of his pocket with one hand, he reached up to rub his eyes with the other.

_Another dollar in the jar, boy._

He found the right one and shoved it in the lock. Twist. Breathe. Click. Breathe. Turn. Breathe. Open.

Chest heaving, he bolted into Sigyn’s living room as though she might be waiting on the other side of the door and would slam it in his face if he didn’t move fast enough. His eyes swept over the room, starting with her little kitchen on his left, table directly ahead, couch to the right of that, and finally her open bedroom doors. Directly behind those doors, she stood there staring at him with wide eyes, her phone in her hands. Just then his phone chirped at him from inside his pocket.

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed nervously. “That was from you, correct?”

She nodded slowly.

“What does it say?"

He didn’t want to read it. He didn’t want to see digital representations of letters strung together into words and spaces that said anything other than _“I love you to the stars and back, forever dream boy”_...or something along those lines. Hearing her break up with him would be painful enough. He hardly needed to add a visual layer to this almost-certain last gasp before the _dying of the light_ by having to _read_ it.

The shadow under her jawline moved, evidence that she was swallowing what he hoped was a _gigantic_ lump in her throat. Hopefully it was hurting her trachea. Hopefully her heart was burning her just like his. She finally let him hear her voice. It was shaky as hell.

_Good._

“What’s the point of texting if the recipient won’t _read_ it?”

His already clenched jaw tightened further.

_Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play this. FINE._

Nostrils flaring, he grabbed the edge of the front door, which he’d been too distracted to close behind him when he first walked in a few minutes ago, and with the force of a tennis player’s backhand at Wimbledon, he slammed it shut. She visibly winced, reminding him of that time he’d thrown his Ray Bans through the neighbor’s patio table in Montauk.

_Right before I told her she SHOULD BE SCARED of me._

He regretted having said that, though it was probably true. God, he hated reality. He saw her scoff before the sound reached his ears. It was perhaps a strange thing to ponder in that moment, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the speed of light kicking its speed of sound rival in its noisy ass right before his eyes.

_The speed of DYING light._

_Don’t go gently…_

He heard her say _“that strong arm is SUCH a turn-on”_ then suddenly she was in his face, and her hands were on the back of his neck. His eyes blew wide. _Christ_. How had she moved that fast? Her grip was tight, but not painful. No, it was just right- such a convincing grip, one that suggested he was her lifesaver in open water after being tossed overboard.

“And you are _such_ a good actress, Sig,” he snapped, shoving his hands in his pockets because they wanted to be all over her, and they deserved better than to touch someone who didn’t think he was worth drowning for.

“It’s not acting,” she snapped back, yanking her hands away, possibly leaving scorch marks behind, “it’s _sarcasm_.”

Eyes locked on his, she walked backwards, which if his earlier philosophizing had been accurate, might have technically been _forward_. Not that it mattered, since she was moving, in one direction or another, _away_ from him.

_Don’t go gently, boy._

He followed her, and she took more backward steps until her back was against the wall. Coming toe to toe with her, he sucked in his cheeks, annoyed that they were doing the same song and dance routine- the “back me into a wall, then pick me up, and _do_ me against it” routine. Naturally, this meant that she _was_ turned on by his _strong_ arms, which made her a goddamn liar. Not that he didn’t also fall into that category, but he was allowed to be a hypocrite because she was a hypocrite too.

“I can’t do this anymore, Loki,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes when he leaned his weight into her.

“Can’t do what?” Seriously. He needed clarification. He wasn’t interested in continuing this demeaning and… masochistic... for all intents and purposes… game wherein he subjected himself to the figurative equivalent of getting slapped in the face for _loving this woman to the stars and back._

Lips trembling, she put her hands over her eyes, then dropped them to hang uselessly at her sides. “I can’t keep letting you in.”

His heart- what was left of it -stuttered to a stop, and he took a step back. This was it. The last gasp.

_NO. Don’t go gently._

Head shaking angrily, he stepped forward again and set both hands on the wall behind her, caging her between them. Trapping her in the _space between._

“Letting me in… where?” he asked, his eyes roving over her wet cheeks. “In… your apartment?”

She didn’t respond, so he inched closer. “In…” his gaze moved to her lips “...your mouth?”

Her eyes snapped up to his, and perhaps it was unintentional, but her tongue poked out to wet her lips. God, those long lashes looked so thick… so heavy. He wanted to feel them fluttering against his navel. She seemed to realize her mistake a second later- probably because his hips were flush with hers, and denim couldn’t hide his reaction beneath it -and her tongue disappeared behind her lips again.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t mean _in my body.”_

He closed his eyes, trying to will away the _another-dollar-boy_ tears. Shit. Was that answer code for _“I would allow you to fuck me, if only I could allow it without getting emotionally attached to you”_...? But… weren’t they nearly three years too late for that?

Blinking several times, he removed one hand from the wall and slid it into her hair. Such an obvious and pathetic, last-ditch effort to keep her in his life. “Does ‘your body’ include your heart?”

He’d assumed she would slap his hand away, but she kissed him instead. _Holy f-_ the pounding in his chest shot straight down his torso and below his belt. Heaven help him, he was such a lovesick fool of a man for this girl. Her arms wound around his neck, and she moaned, doing exactly what she’d said she “couldn’t do” only seconds ago. She was letting him in… or so he hoped.

“Am I worth drowning for?” he asked without thinking against her lips, only realizing he’d done it when she put a few inches between their mouths.

“Am _I?”_ was her narrow-eyed response, and _that… was... IT._

Letting go of her, he turned on his heel and walked to the door. “I’m done.”

“WHAT?” She ran after him, grabbing his shoulder.

Val’s earlier words echoed in the air around him-

_“You’re worth drowning for, hon, and anyone who doesn’t feel that deep in her bones doesn’t deserve you…”_

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Sigyn’s wrist and yanked her hand off of him, then he reached for the doorknob.

“Please don’t leave! Oh my god, Loki, all I did was question if _you_ feel that strongly about _me!”_

“It wasn’t _your_ question to ask at all!” He shot back, twisting the doorknob. “It was _my_ question, and you threw it back in my face, Sigyn.”

He’d “full-named” her, as she would say, and it made him sick to his stomach that he’d done so while walking away from her. The creaking of the door as it opened was… ominous… sounding _exactly_ like a dying breath.

_I swear I won’t let you die, Starboy._

_Right._

He was halfway to the stairs when those words- words he’d handwritten in Troy’s book, and also added to the final chapter of _Satellite Tides_ , which no one had read yet -slithered across his mind like a snake in the grass, tempting him to turn back around, to sail back to his forever dream girl siren, his little white rabbit that he would follow through a bad trip Wonderland even if it ended with him losing his head. Honestly though, it wasn’t that silent sentence, but the silence itself- the lack of her footsteps behind him -that made him turn around.

She was standing in her open doorway, chewing her lip and staring at him with crying eyes. Stomach in his throat, he walked straight back to her, but she held up a hand.

“Absolutely not,” she said, visibly shaking. “That right there-” she pointed to the stairs _“-that_ was the last call. I will not _ever_ watch you do that again.”

She stepped back and started to close the door, but against his better judgment, he put his shoulder against the wood and pushed it open before she could shut it all the way.

“You’re not doing that to me,” he ground out, tossing his keys on her kitchen table. He wouldn't let her slam the door on him. He was staying here goddammit, whether she liked it or not.

She gaped at him. “This is _my_ apartment.”

Her hands were on his chest, pushing against him. Pushing him backward. Toward the door. She wasn’t strong enough to do that. He must have been letting her do it.

“Last I checked,” she said through her teeth while grabbing his keys and shoving them in his front pocket, “ _I’m_ the one who pays thirty-nine hundred damn dollars every thirty days to live here, not _you_. Go back to your _fifteen-THOUSAND-dollar_ per month, top-floor, _PERFECT_ room-with-a-view that you made your king-size bed in, and get the hell out of _my_ apartment!”

With one final growl, Sigyn pushed him into the hall and slammed the door in his face. Feeling like he’d been kicked in the chest, punched in the gut, stabbed in the back, Loki stared at the gold number eight, fresh tears pooling in his eyes. He almost knocked on it.

 _Almost_.

Struggling to breathe, wondering momentarily if he would hyperventilate in this pathetic third floor hall with its flickering horror-film-worthy lights, he turned away from the door instead. His legs were heavier than lead, but he walked to the stairs nonetheless, pausing to look back at that gold eight before setting the heel of his boot down on that first of many steps back to the concrete below. Lost in his own head, he couldn’t hear Sigyn sobbing on the other side of her door.

...

_NEW YEAR, SAME HABIT_ CONCLUDES IN CHAPTER 12: **AVAILABLE** **DECEMBER 31, 2020**

_Chapter 11 Theme Songs:_

**_For Sig:["Bleeding Love" by ASTR](https://youtu.be/2YR5-oFedg4)_ **

_"Oh we started a war. There’s no turning back. There's no turning back. 'Til we come down._

_Heartbeats full of fire. Now we’re caught up in emotion. Cut me with your lies. Now we’re never gonna slow down._

_We keep bleeding love. 'Til we come down. We keep bleeding love. 'Til we come down. Already over it now._

_Caught in your line of fire. Had a hold and a can’t escape. Put me down with your cruel desire. The writing’s on the wall but we’re too blind to see._

_Gone. And I can’t breath. We could, we could run. Every little thing we hold. But we can’t leave. We could, we could run. We could, we could, 'til we come down."_

_-excerpt from ASTR's "Bleeding Love"_

**_For Loki:["Good Things Fall Apart vs. Sad Songs" by Illenium ft. Annika Wells](https://youtu.be/uODuvT8m2-o)_ **

_"Did I say something wrong? Did you hear what I was thinking?_

_Did I talk way too long when I told you all my feelings that night?_

_Is it you? Is it me? Did you find somebody better? Someone who isn't me._

_'Cause I know that I was never your type. Never really your type._

_ Overthinking's got me drinking. Messing with my head . _

_ Tell me what you hate about me! Whatever it is, I'm sorry!  _

_ I know I can be dramatic, but everybody said we had it! _

_ I'm coming to terms with a broken heart. I guess that sometimes good things fall apart." _

_ \- excerpt from Illenium's "Good Things Fall Apart vs. Sad Songs" _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the last several chapters, I WILL share my thoughts in this notes section:
> 
> Ouch. Ouch. OUCH. *hangs head* I know, I know. You want to kill me, and I can't fault you for that. But you HAD to know this one was coming. Especially since I started with a Dylan Thomas poem and the "setting/scene date and time" said it was October 1, 2019 at 2:00 am. I assume that if you read this far, that is a memorable date- one that Sig mentioned in the first chapter as "their awful breakup in October" and again later on as "the earliest hours of October." I swear- I don't know why I do this to myself. October is my favorite month, yet I decided to go with that date as their break-up. *flings up hands*
> 
> Some of you might have noticed that Sig did not tell him what her text said at the end, and since he did not look at his phone, you didn't get the answer to his "what does it say" question. That was not an oversight on my part- leaving those words unspoken and unread, therefore UNKNOWN is, at least in my experience, in real life AND reading/writing fiction, extremely scary. I don't mean "horror movie" scary. I mean, that feeling of dread within the context of a relationship that's running on fumes. "The last gasp" if you will. I'll leave it up to you all to imagine what that text might have said, not because I'm trying to make you freak out on Loki's behalf by forcing his anxiety/fear on you, but because... doesn't the angst of their October 2019 breakup make the relief of their New Year's Eve 2019 "make up" that much sweeter? And uh... hotter? You know, when we FINALLY get back to the original December 2019 setting... 12 chapters later? You might disagree with my method, but I can't help it. I prefer the slow build up to the GOOD stuff. Or maybe I had a subconscious intent to finish this story in December. *shrugs*
> 
> Speaking of December, (as an aside) the "because we couldn't leave the windows down in DECEMBER" lyrics excerpt that I added from Loki's "theme" song at the end of this chapter gets me EVERY time. Come on, this story started at a party on December 31, 2019, and Sig was alone wishing to EVERYTHING that Loki would be there. Not only that, but as I write these notes, it IS December. And the bittersweet cherry on top is that the final chapter will "go live" on December 31, 2020- only 1 week from today. Oh my god... I can't even. I will be a MESS.
> 
> Listen, I know chapter 11 was a heartbreaking read, but if you’re willing to share your thoughts on it with me in the comments, please do. I genuinely appreciate the feedback. If you haven't done it yet, please hit that kudos button if you've enjoyed this story. Also, New Year Same Habit is available to read over on my website (mentioned the url in those beginning notes) and it's a great "aesthetic" experience- more art for New Year, more commentary (if you don't mind getting into my crazy head), and deleted scenes. Whatever... TLDR: I made a pretty site, and I'd love for you to see it. (Loki is total eye candy, so he features pretty heavily, and it's safe for work so... *thumbs up*)
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY WORK. IF YOU’VE COME THIS FAR, I HOPE IT’S BEEN WORTH IT. I'll see you on New Year's Eve 2020, and we can raise our glasses to 2021 while saying goodbye to Loki and Sig's story together. Until then, take care of yourselves. -Jen


	12. Happy New Year, Love.

  
  
  


**_~ “Present Day” 12:42 am, January 1, 2020~_ **

Sitting on the edge of Sigyn’s bed, Loki stared at her closed bathroom door on the opposite side of her small living room. Only minutes ago, she’d been moaning underneath him. The button-fly of his jeans had been too tight _back then_ , but now?

_Now I’m not even HALF-hard while waiting for her to finish retching on the other side of that stupid door._

The sound was muffled, so it could be worse, but that sliver of a silver lining couldn’t stop his mind from running wild with the questions of _why_ her stomach had turned over within the blink of an eye. She wasn’t acting _remotely_ drunk, but maybe during the last three months, she’d become more adept at speaking clearly (with _actual_ words) while under the influence. Maybe she’d coped with alcohol as much as he had since October, and was becoming a touch too skilled at handling her liquor.

_So… just how many drinks did she have at Strange?_

Or was it a sudden surge of anxiety-induced nausea? Anxiety that stemmed from a misplaced belief that he was trying to stake his _claim_ on her with his mouth? Perhaps it wasn’t his lips so much as it was his _hips_ that had been the problem. Admittedly, he had ground them rather aggressively between her legs, but surely he’d earned a bit of credit for having enough self-control to keep his trousers on, right? He hadn’t even _touched_ his belt, much less unbuckled it.

“Excuses excuses,” he sighed, pushing loose strands of _annoying-as-fuck_ hair behind his ear.

Merriam Webster should add “male privilege” to their website and put his picture next to it. Yes, he’d really earned _high_ praise for keeping her _safe_ from his dick with a layer of denim while putting his hands down her dress. No harm, no foul. 

Tapping his heels nervously on her bedroom rug, he chewed his lip. Thing was, _she’d_ pulled _him_ on top of her after he’d told her that he wouldn’t be angry with her if she’d changed her mind. She’d sworn that she was okay; that she wouldn’t _break_ . And she’d been more than a little aggressive with _her_ hands too. Clearly, her second thoughts from when he’d paused to take that chair into her living room had turned into _third_ thoughts. Perhaps hugging the commode would inspire _fourth_ thoughts- something like “let me ride you like it’s the end of the world, Loki.”

_Don’t count on it, LO._

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, setting his elbows on his knees and bowing his back as he bent forward and put his head in his hands. Talk about taking a turn for the worse. Honestly, with all this back and forth, he felt like he might be sick too.

He heard the squeak of her bathroom faucet then, followed by running water and her electric toothbrush. Blowing out a heavy breath through his mouth, he lifted his head again when the toothbrush stopped. She would open that door any second now, and he had no clue what he should say to her.

_Feel better?_

_Thanks for brushing your teeth?_

_Why did you throw up at all?_

_Are you drunk?_

_Are you real or did I just hallucinate this entire experience?_

_May I put my face between your thighs?_

_Do you think I only came here to get my helluva-drug-forever-dream-girl-fuck-fix?_

_Do you know how WRONG you are for thinking that?_

_Do you realize what you did to me in September?_

_And October? And November? And DECEMBER?_

_Did you EVER love me?_

_WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY I WAS WORTH DROWNING FOR??_

“I think she only missed the _idea_ of me, not the _real_ me, so…” he went quiet, trying to gain control of his shaky voice. “I should leave, shouldn’t I,” he whispered to the empty room, waiting for the walls to answer him, to _tell_ him what to do.

_TELL ME!_

Naturally, the walls remained silent, though he would have _sworn_ he saw writing appear on them. Brow creasing, he frowned, feeling as though gravity had singled out the corners of his mouth to pull them to the ground faster than the rest of his face. No, the “writing” was just shadows created by fireworks. He shook his head, his eyes slamming shut to stop his brain from seeing things that weren’t there.

A minute or so later, when she still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, he opened his eyes and squinted at the door. Okay, what, was she bloody _hiding_ from him? Pushing off the bed, feeling like someone had set a two-hundred pound bar across his shoulders, he walked across the living room toward her bathroom. He reached up to knock on the door, but he hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air an inch from the hard surface. Nostrils flaring, he sucked in a breath as a shiver shot down his spine. Jesus- the hairs on the back of his neck (the ones that were too fine and short to stay in his hair tie) were legitimately standing up.

_For god’s sake, LO. What, are you scared the damn door will burn you?_

He looked sideways, thinking how utterly perfect that word choice was. Would it _burn_ him? Well, sunlight did have a tendency to turn his nose and cheeks pink if he forgot to put sunscreen on during summer, and if one considered what (or who) was on the other side of this door, then, in a metaphorical sense, it was possible that he _would_ get burned. However, since it was now December… wait… no… January... maybe that _winter_ sun wouldn’t do the same damage.

_Oh, but… are STAR boys subject to the seasonal shifts of life on Earth? Your head is in outer space, is it not?_

“Oh my god, I _hate_ you,” he hissed through his teeth at that too-poignant voice in his head. Taking a deep breath, he set the knuckle of his first finger on the door and knocked gently. “Sig?”

_Please answer me, sweetheart. I don’t care if you burn me._

His heart shot straight up through the roof when she responded.

“Yeah, sorry, just… I’ll be out in a second. I’m so _SO_ sorry, Loki.”

His lungs released the breath they’d been holding to the point of nearly passing out like a goddamn corset-wearing princess. She’d said his name with such contrition, her tone suggesting that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was grateful for it.

“Just cleaning myself up a bit,” she continued, forcing a firm tone as she washed her hands. It was a confident tone, a _“totally fine in here”_ tone to hide how scared and shaken up and broken apart she felt.

Oh hell, if only he knew how in love she was with him, how much she needed him, not only in this crushing-yet-beloved city, but needed him _everywhere_. Her universe was crumbling further, bit by bit, square inch by square inch, every second that he wasn’t with her. Not “with her” as in physically in her presence, but “with her” as her boyfriend.

_As in, “he is in my life and loves me as much as I love him.”_

In these last three months, she’d been forced to take a good hard look in the mirror, and her reflection had not been forgiving. Her behavior in the month before she’d literally slammed her door in his face had been inexcusable. Oh but she’d made plenty of excuses for herself, hadn’t she? And this went further back than just September.

It wasn’t her fault that Tony had died, right? It wasn’t her fault that Loki had been “too possessive” of her time, right? She’d had no control over her work schedule, right? She couldn’t be expected to examine her priorities… you know… like _HE HAD…_ right? And and and-

“Spare me the monthly reports, please,” she murmured under her breath as she washed her hands.

She’d ruminated on the painful, shameful details of this entire year to no end. Enough was enough. She was burying herself under that shame, which was probably what she deserved. For a time. This was penance… or something. God, she needed professional help, otherwise she would never move forward. Not that she particularly _wanted_ to move forward. Not without Loki. She didn’t want to go anywhere unless it was with him. The chances of that, however, weren’t great. How could he believe her now if she told him that she would give him anything that he asked of her? She’d already quit her old job and found a new one, so at least he didn’t have to go through that mess again. She only had herself to blame for this shitshow. No way in hell did he want to get back together- he was just here because New Years had made him _extra_ sad.

_You don’t know that, hon._

Okay, well, considering what she’d done to him, it seemed the most likely reason for his presence. How in all the world could she at least get him to consider… friendship? It wasn’t the whole package, but beggars can’t be choosers.

_Show him the letter, hon._

_Oh god… but… what if he hates it?_

_We’ve been over this, Sigyn. He wrote a NOVEL for you. He showed it to the entire PLANET. So, buck up, and show him that letter that you should have sent to him when you wrote it THREE WEEKS AGO._

Licking her lips, she swallowed. A heartbroken “please come back to me” scream was trying to burst through her not-so-tough shell, and maybe she should just let it happen. Maybe she should open this door, get on her knees, and beg him to forgive her for being so heartless. For playing unfair games with him. For being so ungrateful for the sacrifices he’d made for her after Tony died. For letting him shell out his love so generously and giving him nothing but crumbs in return.

Dammit. She was going to self-talk herself straight into that toilet bowl all over again if she didn’t just grow up, and tell him all of those words that may or may not convince him to love her like he used to. Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and gasped quietly when her face collided with Loki’s chest. She lifted her eyes to his face, setting every detail of this _second_ to memory.

“God, you are so gorgeous,” she said, voice shaking.

Heart pounding at her words, which he had not expected at all, he bent down to her eye level, unable to suppress a slight smirk. Despite the aching desire to lean in and kiss her just for calling him “gorgeous” to his face, he held himself back. After all, he couldn’t be sure if she was on the verge of getting rid of more of her dinner.

“And you are...” he trailed off, his eyes zeroing in on her bottom lip, which she was now biting.

_Mouthwatering…_

_Don’t say that._

Tilting his head, still focused on those lips, he asked, “How’s your gag reflex right now?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “That was… direct.”

It took him a second to put two and two together, then he quite literally facepalmed. “Jesus. I meant how is your _stomach_. As in, you aren’t about to get sick again, are you?”

She flashed a toothy smile at him, then put her hand over her mouth . “I didn’t actually get sick. More of a-” she made a face “-dry heaving situation.”

He squinted at her. “Lovely. What happened? Too much to drink?”

_Please say no. My conscience would eat me alive if I tried anything when you’re drunk, gorgeous girl..._

“I had all of _two_ drinks, Loki,” she sighed, stepping around him and walking toward her bedroom, her stilettos clicking loudly on the hardwood. “Though I would have had far more if they hadn’t charged forty damn dollars per glass. Highway robbery.”

Loki followed her, staring at her legs as they criss-crossed slightly in front of her with each step. God, the way she walked accented her hips perfectly. He was becoming more stupid by the second. He had thousands of questions about September (and the first hours of his October hell), but he doubted his tongue would be able to form the necessary words. No, the only thing his tongue could do right now was just loll out of his mouth because… _legs_ . She stopped in front of her bed and picked up her copy of _Looking for Sunlight_ from her pillow. Fingers running over the cover lovingly, she turned around to face him.

“I’ve read this book a hundred times,” she said wistfully, flipping through the pages to find the envelope that she’d addressed to him weeks ago. She’d even put a stamp on it, but rather than dropping it in the mailbox, she’d been using it as a bookmark.

_You are SUCH a coward, Sigyn._

He raised his dazed eyes from her thighs to the book in her hand, which she was now clutching to her chest as though it was the most precious thing in the world. His chest tightened at the sight.

_She might not love me anymore, but at least she still loves my book._

“I meant every word,” he said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking.

Lips pressing together, she gave him a sad little grin, then produced a plain white envelope- one with his name, address, and postage on it -from the space between the book cover and her chest. He blinked silently at the thing, unsure what to make of it. She held it out to him.

“I meant every word too,” she whispered, her lip trembling as he slowly reached forward and took it from her hand. “I can’t force you to read it… a-a-and,” she stumbled over the word a bit and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I under-” deep breaths “-stand if you d-d-don’t want to-” oh please don’t cry again “-but I-”

“Of course I’ll read it,” he spoke over her, sliding his thumb under the seal to break it open. God, she’d used actual sealing wax and everything. He lifted his eyes to her face again and raised an eyebrow. “May I?”

Blinking several times, she waved a hand and nodded quickly. “Sorry, yes, of course. Um… I’ll give you some privacy,” she said, setting the book on her nightstand and hurrying toward her bedroom doors.

He grabbed her hand as she slid by him, and she turned slightly to look up at him. Perhaps it was juvenile, but he feared that if she left his sight, she would disappear completely. _For good._ That was… that was not an option anymore. He needed this girl.

_MY girl._

“Stay,” he whispered, running his thumb over her knuckles.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to watch you read it.” Good god, his hand fit around hers perfectly, as though it was _supposed_ to be there.

His eyes flicked down to the letter, the crease between his eyebrows deepening tenfold. “That bad? How much will this hurt me?”

Her eyes went wide, and she turned toward him completely. “No no no no, it’s nothing like that. It’s not some sort of list of supposed transgressions that you committed against me or anything. No, definitely not. It’s more of a… um…” she swallowed, “a confession.”

His jaw didn’t _exactly_ drop to the floor, but it was damn near close. “Did you cheat on me?”

“Oh my god, NO,” she practically _shrieked_. “Never ever ever EVER. I can’t even…” her voice failed her, and she dropped her forehead to his chest. “Absolutely not. No other man could come close to…” again her voice gave up on her.

His shirt smelled so good, and it was so soft against her cheek. To think, this soft fabric was concealing such a firm chest. And shoulders. And arms. Not to mention those stomach muscles. Suddenly, she seriously regretted asking him to read a 10-page (front and back) letter just now. She should have waited until the post-game. She should be feeling every inch of his skin right now instead.

“Thank god,” he breathed, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her hair. He squeezed the envelope in his hand. “I would have burned this thing if _that’s_ what you meant.” The soft crunching sound of the paper crinkling in his grip bounced off the exposed brick walls and wood floor as though their little New Years scene were playing out inside of a cathedral rather than a pre-war one-bedroom in Manhattan.

“I’ll just be in the other room,” she said, struggling to keep her hands away from him lest they slip under his shirt and ruin her resolve to be fair to _him_. He needed to know. He needed to see her handwritten words with his own eyes, just as she’d seen his words on the first page of her book. He deserved at least that much before making a massive decision about his future with her.

_What if reading it makes him decide to walk out the door, hon? Are you willing to accept that?_

Clearing her throat, she exaggerated a sniffle. “Need to grab a tissue,” she said, using the excuse to step away. “Don’t want to ruin your pullover with my runny nose. I know how much that thing cost.”

 _Could_ she accept it if he left? Well, so long as he had the full story, so long as she knew that this was _his_ choice without her manipulating him with puppy-dog eyes and trembling lips (and a leggy dress with plunging neckline and high heels) then, yes, she could learn to accept it if he decided to leave her tonight. Here’s what she couldn’t accept: letting him think that _HE_ needed to “crawl back” to her, to her _apartment-_ the place where his heart took hit after hit, and his back took stab after stab. Sure, he bore some responsibility regarding their combined spiral in September; he was by no means an angel. But she couldn’t stand the undoubted _fact_ that he believed that she thought herself the innocent victim here. And in believing that lie, he had probably convinced himself that he was the villain here.

_Not even CLOSE, Starboy._

_“_ That’s what laundry soap is for,” he muttered uselessly as she left the bedroom. He didn’t care about his stupid pullover, but fine… whatever.

Sinking down to the edge of her bed once more, he gingerly pulled the letter out of the envelope. He stared wide-eyed, his lips parting as he thumbed through multiple full-sized pages of paper. Some of the inside perforated edges looked as though she’d ripped them a bit too aggressively from a spiral-bound notebook. Chewing his lip unconsciously, he examined each page, flipping from front to back, then turning them over again. The tri-fold horizontal creases were perfectly straight and split evenly. If one hadn’t known she was an architect, they would after one look at her penmanship. Clean edges, distinct lines, neutral pen pressure, barely slanted, all uppercase, each letter matched the height of the one next to it.

“How many…” he whispered, barely audible as he counted the pages. In three and a half decades, no one had ever given him more than a few lines of niceties on the inside of a birthday or Christmas card.

Ten pages. Front and back. So… twenty. Sig had put a literal pen to twenty full pages of paper for him.

“My god,” he breathed, lifting his eyes from the _short story_ in his hand to look at the open doors instead.

What kind of _confession_ was this? A part of him was scared to read it. Couldn’t he just tell her that it meant the world to him that she’d cared enough to write something for him- something this _substantial_ -without having to read the potentially painful details? Shit- he couldn’t do this. Setting the pages down on her nightstand right beside him, he leaned over and put his head in his hands again. After a few silent moments of shaky breathing, which he hoped wasn’t loud enough for Sig to hear from the other side of the wall, Loki swiveled his head to eye the intimidating papers.

“Don’t be a coward,” he said tightly under his breath, and with his cheek still resting in his palm, he reached over to grab them.

However, when his fingers grazed the papers, he retracted his hand an inch, and then reached underneath them to pick up her _Looking for Sunlight_ hardback instead. Maybe seeing his own handwriting- his January 2019 “confession” to _her_ -would give him the courage he lacked to read her words to him. Opening the book carefully for fear of _disturbing_ the words resting inside, he turned to the dedication page. Eyes boring a hole into the ink, he mouthed his own words.

“On January 1, 2017, I was a 32-year old loaded gun, a bottle of oxy…hungover...freezing...dead Christmas trees who had more life left in them than I did...new Nikes from my father in lieu of any affection...rounded the corner...skidded to a stop...you grabbed my arms to keep from falling...where’s the fire, darling...you pulled a pen out of your bag...grabbed my hand...wrote your number on my palm and signed your name…”

Swallowing thickly, he reached up to rub his eyes. He could barely see the words.

“Another dollar,” he muttered, turning to the next page- the first actual page of the book. They weren’t handwritten words, but he’d written them for Sig nonetheless. Another page. And another. Again. Again. He paused on the first page of the third chapter, not just skimming, but _reading_ each word, giving his full attention to the lines of serif-font print:

  
  


_“Dreamy as fuck- that’s what she called me… No, not to my face. I overheard her say it to her friend at the other end of the bar... Yes, I KNOW it’s a compliment. It’s also a death sentence… Because I’m a guaranteed DISAPPOINTMENT, that’s why. She already put me on this goddamn pedestal, and I have nowhere to go but down… What do you think I mean?... I mean that she should WAIT a bit before deciding to look at me like I hung the moon... No no no no, you aren’t listening... You know what? Nevermind. I’m hanging up now.”_

_I don’t actually have anyone to hang up on. I’m not on the phone. It’s just another silent conversation with myself. I would do well to have a conversation with Suna, considering she’s standing right here. Probably not wise to let her think I don’t want to be ALL OVER her right now._

_She looks up at me, twirling the small black cocktail straw in her drink. “Don’t you just DESPISE all these Wall Street frat boys congratulating themselves for being gods among men?”_

_Her question is cold water on a hot day. Refreshing and rare._

_“Spoiled pricks,” she continues, “they don’t deserve a dime to their names.”_

_I don’t filter my response. I think Suna would prefer to know just how moronic this “dreamy-as-fuck” man gets when he’s three sheets to the wind._

_“Seems to go with the territory,” I say, eyeing the crowded room narrowly. “Ridiculous establishment. You know who’s worse than those spoiled pricks?”_

_I return my eyes to her when she says “oh do tell” or something like that. I gesture flippantly to a group of princesses who I doubt are legally allowed to be in this place. The group next to them are a bit older, thank god, but age is undoubtedly the only distinction between them._

_“The overly made up girls trying to get a hold of all those spoiled pricks’ unearned dimes by flashing fake smiles and fake tits and flipping their fake hair and batting their fake eyelashes. Conniving thieves. They look like plastic dolls, and those idiots fall for it. Whatever. They can have them. I have no interest in playing with a fucking doll. That sounds like a term for sex doll, which isn’t what I meant. But if the shoe fits... or in this case, if the dick fits.” I feel my lips pursing with more gravitas than Derek Zoolander as I look sideways. “That joke came out of nowhere.”_

_It wasn’t even a GOOD joke. I’ve had too much alcohol. It’s making me loose-lipped and simple. Speaking of lips- I’m so in love with Suna’s mouth right now. So pretty… so REAL. No fillers. Not fake. Those lips are just like her words actually. If anyone here is dreamy, it’s HER, not me. I better not open my mouth and say this shit to her after I’ve had this much liquor._

_“I swear I meant plastic dolls,” I add, attempting to clarify. “You know… as in toys… I don’t mean sex toys… I mean…” My voice fades, which is probably for the best, but unfortunately, I don’t close my mouth. It hangs open stupidly like it did every second of every maths class I suffered through as a boy. I roll my eyes. I have no idea what the hell I am saying. “I’ll try this again. I associate fake plastic types with unthinking, lifeless, perfect looking dolls, and I despise both.”_

_I assume she will glare at me and walk away, but she surprises me by saying, “I agree. Playing with dolls as a little girl is exactly why I’m so goddamn unsatisfied with my own reflection. Here’s Barbie’s next slogan-” she clears her throat and makes air quotes with her fingers “-’Warping every mirror all kinds of wrong since 1989’. I came up with that on my own while you were rambling about sex toys.”_

_My god, I want to kiss this woman. Her mouth isn’t just pretty- it’s clever. Maybe if my lips touched hers, she could transfer some of that quick wit to me. I’m usually so much better at this._

_“I like the way you talk,” I manage, unable to pull my eyes away from her lips._

_“And I think YOU talk like an Ivy League, Gen Xer elitist who just listened to ‘Fake Plastic Trees’ in your fancy car before you walked in here, then you got a bit too tipsy, and you really regret it because you can’t come up with anything more clever than ‘I like the way you talk’, and now you want to bolt.”_

_She knows 90s Radiohead references, and she was barely five years old at that time, and that makes HER an elitist too. But I think I’ll save that zinger for another time._

_“I’m a Xennial, not an Xer,” I correct her, clucking my tongue while shaking my head, “but you are disturbingly spot on otherwise.”_

_Suna leans closer. MUCH closer. The tip of her nose is touching mine now, and if she angles her head to touch her lips to mine, I’ll be done for. She doesn’t, and I am both incredibly relieved and beyond disappointed._

_"If you’re leaving,” she whispers, looking up at me through eyelashes that must weigh more than she does, “let me come with you.”_

_Oh what I wouldn’t give to make her come with me… in every sense of the word._

_“I am moved that you want to come with me,” I answer, forcing a thick layer of snark into my tone while putting a few inches of distance between our mouths so I don’t use my tongue for something other than talking, “though I’m 99% sure it's only because you want to ride in my car.”_

_I try to step back, but she follows me, setting her hand on my chest. Her thumb runs along the silver zipper of my open black jacket, and it is far more erotic than it should be. I hope that her hand sliding underneath the leather is meant to be an invitation for my hands to touch her too because I have never wanted a woman this much._

_She arches one dark eyebrow and pulls on my collar, forcing me to bend toward her. “Not ONLY your car,” she says, biting into a smile, “but I do want you to hit the gas.”_

_I can’t help but scrape my teeth over my lip. “I bet you do.”_

_Her head tilts toward her shoulder, exposing more of her neck to me, while gazing at me through narrow eyes. “I’m not talking about fucking.”_

_I give her a look, one that any sane person would give her in response to her OBVIOUSLY untrue words. The sound that escapes my mouth could only be described as an ‘extremely offended’ scoff._

_“Yes, you are,” I retort, lifting my thumb to run across her bottom lip just to watch her cheeks and neck flush, thereby PROVING my next words. “You would give anything to fuck me to the stars and back, you pretty little liar.”_

_Her jaw drops, much like her skirt will later tonight in my apartment. “Oh my god!”_

_Yes, I am very loose-lipped. But what I said wasn’t stupid or simple. Saying that gives her a better idea of who I am. If she’s going to come to this absurd conclusion that I’m anything special, it won’t only be because she’s convinced I look amazing without my clothes on._

_Much like the thing in my trousers, the corner of my mouth twitches. “Am I wrong?”_

_Suna grips my shirt more tightly under my jacket, her eyes lowering to stare at my mouth. “What I want is to watch you bite your lip and laugh with the moonroof open,” she says, smiling and closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as though her fantasy is playing out in real time, “and the wind whipping your hair around your face. I want you to put your hand in my hair-” she lifts her head to lock eyes with me again “-while you PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE GAS.”_

_“I can do that,” I say without hesitation, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the door._

_And I’ll also do FAR more than that. My car is not going to be enough. It’s classy and sexy and fast and...drumroll please...dreamy. Perfect fit for her perfect, pretend dream boy. When I open the door for her and offer my hand to help her into the passenger seat, she smirks and calls me a ‘charmer’._

_"That’s code for ‘liar’, and I am NOT a liar,” I say through my teeth before closing the door._

_She bites her goddamn lip again as I round the front of the car, and I don’t understand how I can possibly see that with these headlights blinding me. Suna’s teeth must be brighter than the sun itself. I settle into the driver’s seat, my jaw aching from my attempts to control the natural inclination to clench it every other second for the better part of four hours now._

_Her voice pierces an excessively tense silence after a minute or so. “That silver tongue suggests otherwise.”_

_Now I’m pissed. I’ve had it with everyone saying ‘silver tongue’ like it’s the worst thing ever._

_“Here's an idea,” I say, my eyes narrowing at the red taillights just beyond the windshield. “How about we use our tongues for something other than talking so I don’t say something to piss you off, and YOU don’t say anything ELSE to piss ME off, otherwise I’ll pull this car over, and you’ll WALK home.”_

_“Wow, that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”_

_“Just you wait til I’m sober.”_

_“You might feel loose in the shoulders, dream boy, but you are nowhere near drunk. However, I will HAPPILY drive, if you feel compromised by two measly ounces of whiskey over the course of four hours.”_

_My god, I might just white-knuckle this steering wheel to death. She’s right. I’m not drunk. I’m just an idiot who wishes that he had an easy excuse for his idiocy._

_Still staring ahead, I ask, “Didn’t we agree to stop talking?”_

_Her face falls. “Oh no, but…” she starts, her lips trembling. If she cries, I WILL pull this car over. “But… but…” she continues, “but I thought you LIKED the way I talk?”_

_Suppressing an eyeroll, I side-eye her. She’s grinning, and I have HAD it with that mouth of hers. Voice, words, tongue, lips- ALL of it is rerouting the blood from my head into my trousers instead, and now I am at the mercy of my own dick. Which also means I can’t be the smartest in the room for reasons other than trying to cope with beverages that didn’t even taste good!_

_Good thing we’re now out of my car, and I’m dragging her into the elevator in my building. I really didn’t want to steam up the windows in the middle of the street like a pair of love drunk idiots. Did I say LOVE drunk? Yes, and that’s fair. I want her to fall in love with me, not just into BED with me, and I need to reach more than her goddamn g-spot to convince her..."_

  
  


Loki closed the book and returned it to Sigyn’s nightstand. “I meant every word,” he whispered, repeating his words (and her words) from earlier as he carefully pinched her letter between his thumb and forefinger and picked it up.

_I want her to fall in love with me, not just into BED with me…_

Blowing out a breath, he dared to look at the first few lines:

_“Dear Loki,_

_Today is December 7, 2019, and I don’t know if I’ll work up the courage to send this letter to you, but I’m trying this new thing called “being honest with myself” and if you don’t mind, I’m going to pour my heart out to your ghost right now…”_

  
  


He swallowed anxiously. Oh god, one sentence in, and his chest was already tight. He wanted to run out her door as sure as his alter ego wanted to ‘bolt’ from Suna. But only because everything about her made him want to drown for her, and the words on these pages might tell him that he shouldn’t. He just wanted to love her. He didn’t need to know what she’d written to his _ghost_. He didn’t need to know if she would drown for him too.

_Yes, you do, LO._

“Goddammit,” he growled under his breath, then returned his eyes to the page:

  
  


_“I was at the wedding tonight. I got there really REALLY early (the ushers looked at me like I had two heads) because I was irrationally scared of being late, of disappointing yet another friend, and that earned me a seat right behind the pews reserved for family at the front. It was the third row on Carol’s side of the aisle, and I don’t think I looked at anything other than the church doors for thirty minutes straight. I knew you would come through those doors at some point, and I didn’t want to miss seeing you. Even though I knew you wouldn’t come anywhere near me, I could at least see your face again._

_Darce and Bucky came up to sit with me, thank heaven. I think I would have bolted if they hadn’t. He was so nice. I could tell he felt kind of like a traitor to you though. He was clearly doing it for Darce’s sake. She was talking to me about this or that, and I just nodded along, trying to look like I was paying attention to her. I was twisted toward the aisle (on purpose), anxious to see you in my periphery. It felt like an hour at least went by, and you STILL weren’t there. The anxiety was unbearable. I wish I had swiped one of those Xanax from your laptop bag before you left. It would have been a life-saver._

_That “[Genghis Khan”](https://youtu.be/la3y-i0qu7Q) song started playing then(by the way, Carol and Val picked killer songs for the pre-ceremony)... you know the one I mean, right? God, we danced like a couple of fools to it in your living room last St. Patrick’s Day. There was no rhyme or reason to it. You just turned up the speakers and used the remote like a microphone, and dear god, you sang it with a fake Irish accent, and it was HILARIOUS. Anyway, I’m sitting there in the church, totally spacing on Darce because I’m still looking at those doors, and singing along silently in my head: _

_“I don’t have the right_

_To ask where you go at night_

_But the waves hit my head_

_To think someone’s in your bed…_

_I get a little bit Genghis Khan_

_I don’t want you to get it on_

_With nobody else but me_

_With nobody else but me…”_

_Oh, isn’t the piano FANTASTIC in that one? It sounds like New York to me. Does that make sense? It has so much SOUL. It’s not vapid or plastic like LA. (Probably because we’re all too busy crying over our rent checks to even THINK about cosmetic surgery) That was a joke, and it FAILED. As though California is any more “affordable”...HA._

_Sorry. I’m going off on tangents. Tangents is a funny word. Do you picture gents laying by the pool? Tan...gents? Get it? Oh my god, I should write that down. Wait… look-y there! Already did!”_

  
  


Pressing his lips together, Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to split his sides. Sig was just on the other side of that wall, and he didn’t want her to hear him laugh out loud. She would completely misinterpret it as cruel and insensitive, which was completely off base. Honestly, so far, her story-telling was adorable and funny as hell. As was he, apparently, last March while drunkenly attempting an Irish accent during an impromptu living room concert about “getting a little bit Genghis Khan” over his girl’s whereabouts at night. He remembered that night, and he hadn’t exactly been faking the conviction in the words. “Possessive” might as well be his middle name. Blinking several times, he pushed away thousands of images in his head of the times he had put his arm around her when they were out with friends or at bars or wherever, just so every other man in the room would know this girl was _his_. He sighed heavily and continued reading her words:

  
  


_“Anyway… I was sitting in one of those first rows, then Thor walked in with Jane hanging on his arm, and I knew you couldn’t be far behind them. Another ten nauseating, nerve wracking seconds went by, and FINALLY you walked in. It was such a movie moment with this perfect soundtrack, perfect soft lighting, and you in that perfect dark grey suit that cost like a BILLION dollars and ought to be illegal because...oh my god- just kill me now._

_My eyelids felt far too heavy to open them all the way- like how you wrote that Suna’s eyelashes had to weigh more than she did. Yep. Exactly. Darce asked if I was okay. She said I looked “dazed and confused.” Yeah, you think? I was more than a little lost in that barely there upward curve of your mouth when your brother leaned over to you and said something...funny...I guess. You didn’t look my way, which was probably for the best, because I might have passed out. I hadn’t seen you in two godawful months, and even though that’s hardly enough time to forget how fucking gorgeous you are, it was like seeing you for the first time._

_I wasn’t, but I WAS getting the first glimpse of those shadows under your cheekbones, and those envy-inducing long, dark eyelashes, and those UNREAL jade green eyes, and don’t get me started on your hair. In other words, everything about you was giving me one of those “someone fetch me my smelling salts!” moments that feels really stupid but really good. We’ll set aside the fact that the moment was tinged with an unbearable ache in my chest because I’m not ready to go there yet._

_My mum calls these moments “reminder butterflies.” She says she still gets them with Dad. I don’t remember exactly how she described them, so I’ll just say how they feel to ME. They remind me of that dreamy floaty feeling that happened NON-STOP when we started dating nearly three years ago now. It’s that drug-like euphoric “oh my god, Mum, I’m falling so HARD for him” feeling._

_They’re AMAZING moments, but they’re fleeting. I know this love drunk feeling right now won’t intoxicate me for the next six months like the first time. You can’t possibly give me that CONSTANT high anymore. I can only fall for you once, and I already did that in 2017. I can’t actively fall in love with you again. It’s done…”_

He squinted at the page, his mouth twisting into a scowl. Had she written that he couldn’t give her a _constant_ high anymore?

_Yeah, no shit, sweetheart. Forgive me for being a measly Earthling._

Dear god, so much for laughing. He might need a drink to get through the rest of this letter. Rolling his eyes, he re-read the previous sentence before continuing down the page:

_“I’ll never again be overwhelmed with 24/7 star eyes just because you EXIST. I’ll never again lose my goddamn mind, thinking about you EVERY SECOND like I did after you smiled at me on New Years Day 2017. I kid you not, Loki- after you said “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sigyn Frey” and turned around to resume your morning run, I remember feeling that if I went blind then, that would be okay because I had the chance to see you that ONE time. I felt like that for months._

_Reminder butterflies feel like that, but they only last a few days at most._

_I. Will. Take. It._

_If they’re from YOU, I want them. I don’t need to feel a rush from you for months. I don’t need it for weeks. I don’t need it for days. I WANT it, sure. It feels like heaven. But you are SO MUCH MORE than a cloud nine rush._

_I am such a shit writer, but I’ll try to explain what I mean…”_

Gripping the pages more tightly, Loki chewed his lip, feeling as though his heart was growing three times in size. Please let there be a part in here that said he was worth drowning for. It seemed like she might be getting there, but he needed her to _get there faster._ He rubbed his eyes- a preemptive strike against the _jar-boy_ enemy. Her words were all over the place, and his emotional response was _trying_ to keep up:

_“In my 20s I thought that if that rush started to fade into the background, I must have picked the wrong guy. The second I realized the rush from some guy was disappearing, it would ruin everything. I would suddenly be a girl who had lost interest in what used to be the most EXCITING shiny new toy, but now was desperate for December to come around again, so I could unwrap a newer, BETTER present. The next one would be the RIGHT present, and the right one would never grow old- both figuratively and literally._

_At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted that I was thinking of boyfriends the way I thought of Christmas toys. I just knew I didn’t want THEM to think of ME that way. Well, I’m not in my 20s anymore. It’s 2019, and I am a 31 year old woman, and this year I realized that I am an utter fucking hypocrite. That realization broke my heart more thoroughly than any man ever did._

_The realization that I’M the villain in my story- in the story I dragged you into -is STILL breaking me. Learning that I have been the bad guy all along is...well...it’s a process, and it is not a fun one. I wish it had been a rapid onset epiphany. I wish I could have just ripped the bandaid off. But it didn’t work that way for me. It is a slow, painful, peeling away of my skin._

_It started after Tony died in April this year. Bit by bit, I started to understand what that nightmare where I’m trying to run away from the monster but can’t run fast enough REALLY means. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s the one where you’d swear your legs are stuck in slow motion because the scenery isn’t changing- because when you look behind your shoulder, the monster is still there._

_In that nightmare, I’m exhausted and crying and terrified, and I know one of these seconds is going to be the one when it catches me and rips my heart out. Why doesn’t this scenery EVER change? Why does the monster always stay about ten steps behind me, but never actually catches me? Why won’t it just get it over with? I genuinely believe that death would be preferable to this neverending terror. Coward that I am, I keep running nevertheless._

_Thousands of these syndicated rerun dreams later, it has FINALLY hit me that I was on a treadmill, and that goddamn hypocritical, prideful, selfish monster was ME all along. All I had to do was stop running, let it do its worst, and the nonstop fear of being eaten alive would be over. But I was not ready to let it rip my heart out yet. I was not ready to let it kill my ego. So I kept running, and the monstrous version of me kept chasing down the better parts of me. Kept those better parts from taking the starring role in my story. In OUR story._

_I already said I broke my own heart when I realized I was a hypocrite- a monster. That happened right before you left for Europe in June. I swore to myself that I would be the BEST, most loving, most giving girlfriend when you got home. I think I was fairly good at keeping that promise during August. Wasn’t that an AMAZING month?_

_So what the hell happened in September? How did my promise derail so monumentally after only ONE month? I’ll tell you why. It’s because I never actually stopped running on that treadmill. thought it was good enough to simply know WHO was chasing me. I didn’t want to let it make a martyr out of me. What if the worthiest version of me didn’t arise out of the ashes, so to speak?_

_You walked out of my door on October 1st, and that is when I decided to stop running. I’m telling you- it was so much more painful than the “oh shit, I’m the bad guy” realization. I hate that I waited so long to give up. Maybe you would still love me if I’d done it sooner._

_Piece of advice to my future self: IT’S OKAY TO BE A QUITTER._

_It’s okay to say I’M DONE. TIME TO TURN IN THAT RESIGNATION LETTER._

_I mean- yeah I feel like a failure, but is it that bad if the thing I lost was the all-consuming ego race? No, it wouldn’t be bad if that was ALL I lost. But I lost EVERYTHING._

_I waited too long to lose the worst parts of me, and in the process I lost the most perfectly imperfect love of my life. I thought YOU broke MY heart. Oh my GOD- I thought SO wrong. It was me all along. I did the breaking. I broke your heart, and I broke mine._

_We went through some shit. We had dream lover highs and pissed off lows, and I was okay with both. That sounds idiotic, but here’s why I liked the “lows” too: if we were fighting, that meant our INTENSE passion was still there. If we were fighting, it was because WE were worth fighting for! It was just the flip side of calling in “sick” to work because I NEEDED to spend all day tangled in bedsheets with you. Fighting usually turned into fucking anyway, so all good...right? Jesus. Now I’m picturing you naked, and I’m kind of falling apart. You felt like heaven. I wish I could write better. I don’t have good enough adjectives. I don’t have your beautiful mind. I know you DESPISE your mind, but...it is so perfect, Loki. I can’t even-_

_FOREVER DREAM BOY._

_You know I don’t believe in god. But I’m positive if that entity existed, it would look and feel like you when you’re inside me. When you’re all around me. This hurts. This hurts so much. Writing this letter hurts so much._

_And I am out of tissues. Dammit._

_I’m so goddamn in love with you. I can’t believe I did this. I can’t believe I lost you. You were mine, and I was yours, and it was what everyone on this planet wishes they had, and it’s all my fault that it’s over. I can’t believe I fucked this up so royally._

_We didn’t just have highs and lows, did we. We had in-betweens, and those were the parts that brought out the worst in me. My perfect Christmas toy love didn’t thrill me LIKE HE OUGHT TO during the in-betweens. Nevermind the fact that YOU weren’t thrilled either yet hadn’t disappeared on me like every other guy had before you. Oh no, that wasn’t good enough for a self-entitled brat like me. I had the gall to believe you didn’t love me during the in-betweens. I accused you of it every time those in-betweens rolled back around. And every time the hurt was written all over your face. I think I was trying to force a fight. To force the passion to start revving back up. You know what that is? That is emotional abuse, and I had no idea I was capable of being an abuser. I thought I was only a survivor. I learned too late that I can be both._

_I did that. I really did that. I am WRECKED with shame for doing that to you. I have never felt guilt like this. It’s burning a hole in my core, and I deserve it._

_You know what I don’t deserve?_

_You._

_I don’t deserve you. I should not be allowed to feel reminder butterflies. They feel too good, and I don’t deserve to feel good. But oh god I want to feel them over and over again. And I only want to feel them from you._

_You have no idea what you did to me when I saw you tonight, Starboy. You really nailed it with that book title. I know it’s a “dying star” theme, but I’ve never seen anyone live so genuinely as you. LOVE so genuinely as you. And allow me to add to the metaphor-_

_I love you to the fucking stars and back. A thousand times. A million times. INFINITY times._

_I saw you walk through those doors at the back of the church, and you sent me floating right back up to that high again. I flashed back to the beginning- back to when I just KNEW you would change my life. But tonight was different because you- amazing, beautiful, wonderful you -you already changed my life. I wasn’t waiting and hoping and praying you would say “I swear I’m not like the others, Sig. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.” Because you already did that. You already did SO MUCH MORE than that._

_You already wrote an entire damn BOOK for me._

_Please listen to me, dreamy ghost of Loki. No matter the fact that I crashed from our high, no matter the fact that I let the in-betweens get to me and destroyed the most beautiful thing that WILL EVER HAPPEN TO ME, no matter the fact that you aren’t going to crawl into bed with me tonight and make love to me the way you used to-_

_I will never ever forget that the most precious, priceless, perfectly imperfect person ever- Loki Love of My Life Odinson -wrote an absolutely gut-wrenching, life-changing, mind-bending, heart-breaking book called Looking for Sunlight, and he wrote it FOR ME. You ARE worth drowning for, Loki…”_

Giving up the fight against the water in his eyes, he put a hand over his mouth as it fell open. There it was. She’d said it. She’d WRITTEN it. She’d really done that. Jaw clenched, he pushed to his feet and started toward her living room as he finished the last few lines:

_“...I would have done it a thousand times over when you were mine, and I still would even now. I’ll do it forever. I’ll drown for you. It doesn’t sound fun, but Jesus… I’ll do it for YOU because I will never stop loving you, Starboy, and I miss you beyond words. I’ve put thousands of dollars in thousands of jars for you, and I’m not done yet. I’ll keep breathing, but I’ll never be alive like I was when you were mine. And even if it’s not with me, I hope with all my shattered heart that you will be happy._

_Love forever,_

_Sigyn_

_P.S.- It’s a little too early to say this, and honestly I don’t want to say it at all, but..._

_Happy 2020. Even if yours aren’t mine anymore, all my new years are yours.”_

“Loki?”

He looked up at the sound of her voice, only then realizing that he had left her bedroom. Seated on her couch with her knees pulled to her chest, she was visibly shaking.

“My god, Sig,” he muttered, letting the pages fall to the floor as he made a beeline for her.

Her eyes blew wide, her heart _sobbing_ at the sight of him haphazardly tossing away all those paper words that she’d fought to pull out of her own goddamn word tornadoes.

_Not exactly confetti, is it._

Releasing her tight hold on her legs, she started to scramble off the couch to catch all those little pieces of her before they landed on the unworthy, not-perfectly-clean floor, but he caught her first. She shrieked, clutching at his shoulders, clumsily trying to regain her balance while falling backward onto what she _hoped_ was a soft couch cushion.

“Loki, what-”

He closed his mouth over hers before she could finish whatever the hell that question would have been as they landed on the too-small couch. Oh fucking hell, she could _not_ have responded better to it, moaning into the kiss and grabbing him anywhere...no… _everywhere_ she could reach. His hands were just as scatterbrained as hers, unable to stay in one spot because every part of her felt too good to his palms- how could he possibly choose? He angled his head to deepen an already deep kiss, then grabbed the back of her knee, his head spinning from the mere _sound_ of her gasping underneath him. His shirt bunched up as she dragged it up his side, and he groaned, rolling his hips with more vigor. He’d been waiting a thousand bloody years for this moment with her.

_Oh god, get me out of these fucking clothes NOW._

He was only half-aware of her voice saying “I’m so in love with y-...” as he stood up, yanking her with him (apparently he’d wound his arms tightly around her waist at some point), and walked backwards to her bedroom once more. God, he was absolutely out of his mind for this woman.

_Hello, my name is Loki Odinson, and I’ll die if Sigyn Frey doesn’t say yes when I ask her to be my wife._

“Me too,” he barely managed in response to her admission of love. The back of his knees hit the edge of her bed, and he fell back with her on top of him.

_Oh my god, I AM SO HAPPY._

He was floating… flying… soaring… living forever… immortal and in love, and the girl he loved was just as in love with him. She broke their kiss long enough to smile against his mouth.

Shaking her head while holding his face, she muttered, “Can’t believe you want me still.”

“Never stopped wanting you, sweeth-...” his mouth snapped shut as she scooted over his belt buckle. Chest rising and falling a bit faster, he chewed his lip, loving the feel of his stomach twisting in excited knots.

“I swear I’ll never pull that September shit again,” she said, watching him carefully for any sign of discomfort or hesitance, “and I swear I’ll always be honest and won’t hide from you because obviously that was a disaster, and I am so so so so sorry.”

She paused, her heart picking up speed as he lifted his _gorgeous_ green eyes to hers again. After taking a deep breath, she added, “Can we...?”

He watched her blink slowly, her long dark eyelashes casting shadows over her now flushed cheeks, and he slowly lowered his gaze to her neck and chest.

_Oh fuck- we’re doing this...this is actually going to happen…less than an hour ago, I was a dead man walking..._

He should make sure he understood her correctly. He doubted he was reading this situation incorrectly, but still. He took a deep breath.

“Are you asking me if I’ll-” His words failed him, as though his mouth literally lost function, because, god almighty, she was now full on pressing into his crotch. Well hell. Anything left to say had flown to the back of his mind. A gorgeous gift- the only one he’d ever wanted -had written a 20-page love letter to him, then fallen into his lap, and was now rolling her hips over his jeans. Brow furrowing, he groaned, sliding his hands down her sides.

She curled her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his open mouth to hers, internally screaming “OH GOD YES” as he reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair. She leaned away for a moment, eyeing him carefully because she needed to know that he would...

“Stay,” she whispered.

Leaning with her, trying to follow her mouth, he shook his head rapidly. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”

His lips _barely_ grazed hers when she pulled further away, and he growled at the loss, once again following her.

_Come. Back. Here._

“All night?” she asked, letting him kiss her for a few seconds.

He nodded, running his hand up her spine and into her hair as his mouth moved in tandem with hers. The incessant undulating slide of her hips back and forth pulled a deep groan from his chest, and he couldn’t help but let his head fall back.

She bit her lip, staring at his pale throat. She’d never been able to resist his neck, not that she _wanted_ to, since he had the most irresistible neck in the universe. Tilting her head, she leaned forward to place a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his adam’s apple.

“You’re not going anywhere?” she whispered as she worked her way up to the hinge of his jaw, feeling light-headed from the heat and smell of his skin.

He smelled like heaven- like a leather jacket had soaked up the smoky scent of bergamot tea leaves tossed into a bonfire, and someone had collected the smell, bottled it up, and started selling it as _“LO’s Throat”_ next to Armani Code and D&G Pour Homme at Bergdorff’s or something.

Loki would have nodded in response to her question- no, he was absolutely not going anywhere -but his neck felt like it had turned to jelly thanks to her lips and tongue sliding all over it. He managed to form some semblance of English-sounding words.

“Not...go-...any...I...” The oddly strung together train of _not-words_ derailed entirely when he felt her hand slide all the way down his pullover, below his belt buckle, then wrap her fingers around him through his jeans.

Tightening her grip, she began to slowly run her hand up and down. She bit her lip, rolling her hips more, well, _greedily_ when his jaw dropped. She _loved_ watching his chest rise and fall faster and that strained sound (was it a growl or a moan?) in the back of his throat was so so so so _SO_ sexy.

“Swear it,” she said, using her other hand to lift his head for him, and looked into his dazed eyes.

Breathing hard through his mouth, he gave her an exasperated look. “I already _did_ swear it!” For hell’s sake, why was she making him _talk_ right now?!

“Don’t yell at me,” she frowned, leaning further into him, sliding her lips over his for just a second.

“Can’t you tell the difference between yelling and _sobbing?”_

Dear god, he was whining. As in, “didn’t get my way” toddler _whining_ . But he couldn’t help himself- she really was trying to kill him. For how long had he been hard now? Thirty minutes? Surely not. It had to have been _hours_. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft, so shaky, so...in love. It squeezed his heart so tight, it was enough to distract him from the hand squeezing him through his trousers.

“I’m just making sure,” she let go of the back of his neck to point back and forth between the few inches separating their chests, “because right now, what I need most is to feel _you_ inside _me_ again, but I also need you to be here when I wake up.”

Eyes wide, he blinked at her, his mouth falling open a little. How could she not know this? Of _course_ , he didn’t only want a _physical_ reconnection. It was so much more profound than that. Yes, he would be here when she woke up. He would bring her coffee and breakfast if she wanted, or better yet, walk through the deserted New Years Day streets, stop at Ground Support, and then he would take her home with him.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he then exhaled through his mouth. “I told you I am _not_ going anywh-”

His words were cut off by her tongue darting into his open mouth, and before he realized what was happening, his back was on the mattress. Sigyn leaned over him, cradling the back of his head in her hands and kissing him like his mouth tasted better than those gin and tonics she loved so much, like she was getting just as drunk off of him.

 _Jesus, sweetheart. Go right ahead. Drink up._

When she sat up and slipped her hands underneath his pullover, his stomach clenched at the sensation of her hands smoothing over his bare skin, her thumbs dipping inside the waistband of his boxer briefs. He would have said “I never stopped loving you” right then, but the sentence got lost in the back of his throat because gravity, or maybe it was her incessant rolling hips, was pulling her unzipped dress down over her shoulders at the slowest pace ever. The tease was maddening.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured, his eyes widening when she tilted her head back, her face toward the ceiling, and that goddamn gorgeous dress fell down completely, pooling around her waist and exposing _everything_ to him.

She brought her head back up and leaned down over him again, her hands sliding up his stomach, forcing his pullover up to his neck. He raised his arms over his head on instinct, and she dragged the shirt off. Brow furrowing, she bit her lip, and made a pained sound as her eyes roved over his bare chest and stomach.

“So fucking gorgeous,” she said under her breath, pressing her body down against his, the skin to skin contact with him _(finally!)_ making her head spin like she’d finished off a bottle of wine all by herself.

Once again, he couldn’t make words. At all. Just… sounds. Groans. Soft gasps. Croaks. The sensation of her breasts flush against him was, no joke (and no hyperbole), _intoxicating_. Eyes sliding closed, he flattened his hand against the small of her back and cupped her face with his other hand, pulling her open mouth to his.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

_Fireworks- how ridiculously poetic._

Crying softly against his lips, Sigyn reached down between them, nimbly unbuckling his belt with one hand and tugging his button fly open. He responded with a sharp hiss, and rocked his hips up into her with more force, sliding both hands down to her ass. Oh god, she _loved_ his hands on her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life right here.

_Hello, my name is Sigyn, and I think I’ll die if Loki Odinson never asks me to be his wife._

She helped him push the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs over hips, biting her lip at the sight of what she hadn’t seen in so goddamn long.

_Oh fuck me…_

_Literally._

_PLEASE._

Wrapping her hand around him, she leaned over and slowly kissed the hollow of his throat, and once more, he rocked up into her, his grip on her hips tightening tenfold.

“Sig, oh my god,” he breathed, lifting his head again and catching her lips with his. Opening his mouth wider, he rolled his tongue over hers, and slid one hand up her spine and into her hair.

_Fucking hell, you gorgeous girl…_

He’d never been _this_ high in his life. And _that_ was saying something. Her lips might as well have been candy- sweet as hell and worth indulging to the point of a stomach ache. He wasn’t diabetic, but this girl could probably put him in a coma. He was two seconds from begging her to ride him, but he should have known he didn’t need to ask. Hovering over him and biting her lip, she slid down onto him as though it was the most natural thing in the universe. Eyes rolling back into his head, he groaned as she dropped her mouth to his again.

Grinding her hips over his, Sigyn cupped his face with both hands. This was heaven. This was Valhalla. This was LIFE. Dear god, she’d never been so confident that THIS was the man she wanted to make a baby with. Honestly. Seriously. Desperately. Stupidly. Her IUD would make sure that didn’t happen (THANK YOU) but a huge part of her just knew that it _would_ happen… at some point. Loki would be the father of her children. Whenever the universe said “ _NOW we’re ready”_ , it would happen. She wasn’t complete without him, and she didn’t care if that sounded archaic or antiquated or whatever. Yes, he was a _man_ , and yes, she was desperate to be anything he wanted, anything he needed. But that was FINE because this was her _choice_. This was okay. It was better than okay. It was WONDERFUL. He would give her anything, and she would give him anything.

_I WOULD DROWN FOR HIM._

Oh, that she had said that to him in October. She gave an internal eye roll as soon as she thought it. Never mind. That didn’t matter now. It was _January_ . The start of a new year. It was 2020. Who knew what was in store for them? Maybe it would be a _NIGHTMARE_ , but at least they would be traversing it together. She adored New York, but honestly, it had a tendency to highlight the worst of people, and she knew that _she_ was no exception.

“Oh god,” she groaned, her thighs aching from supporting her weight as she straddled him.

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

He felt AMAZING. Her body was drowning in Loki, dreaming of him, chasing him through Wonderland…

She heard him say “ _Let me help, sweetheart”_ and suddenly, she was on her back, and he was sliding in and out of her like a... god… for lack of a better word.

With one hand in her hair, he reached down to gently grab the hem of that gorgeous dress- _bless Saint Laurent for such a work of art_ -and pulled it up over her hips.

“Careful, love,” he hissed, slipping it over her head. “So beautiful.” That was one expensive dress.

_And the girl in it is PRICELESS._

He rolled his hips forward and back, over and over…

Again…

And again…

And again…

And again…

And again...

“Oh fuck,” she panted against his mouth, crossing her ankles behind his back. “Oh my god… oh my god… oh my god…Loki…”

Behind a closed-lip smile, he grit his teeth. “ _Oh god”_ was right. He _felt_ like a god. A god who could make her come. A god who could give her an F-type for Christmas. A god who could buy her this dress that she’d probably gone into debt just to “wow” him tonight. A god who could pay for their _grandchildren’s_ college tuition.

Push… pull… push… pull… push… pull…

She was close- he could feel it. Heaven help him, this was _not_ easy. He was three months sex-sober, and impressive or not, his dick had its limits.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said through his teeth, moving his mouth to the pulsepoint in her neck. Tongue on her skin, he ground his hips into her with more force. “Sig…” oh shit, he was done for… “please, please, I can’t…”

He heard her say “ _it’s FINE”_ with all the conviction in the world, her fingers curling into his hair, and his mouth fell open, his mind and body sky-rocketing up to cloud nine to live amongst the stars for a beautiful twenty seconds of his lifeline. Twenty seconds of beauty and perfection that the stars themselves, in all their stunning beauty and magnitude, couldn’t replicate.

_If I die right now, I’ll be okay. It won’t be death. It will only be moving through space and time to another dimension where Sigyn Frey smiles at me and welcomes me home._

He blew out a heavy breath through his mouth. Shit… she hadn’t finished.

“It’s not the end of the world, Loki,” she said, kissing underneath his ear. “I’m in heaven because you’re _here.”_

He gave her a withering look.

_Talk about a low bar…_

Eyes roving over her face, he allowed more of his weight (within reason) to settle onto her.

“And you deserve better than that,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears. Bloody hell- he felt like a king _and_ a peasant at once. It was disconcerting. 

“Oh my god,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, then rubbing his nose with hers, “stop feeling guilty over _nothing_ . This-” she ran her hands from his ribs down to his hips and back up to wrap her arms around his waist “-was phenomenal, and I mean _otherworldly_ phenomenal.”

He grinned crookedly. “Otherworldly? If that’s how you feel just because _I’m here-”_

“Here _inside_ me,” she spoke over him, clarifying her earlier point.

“If that’s how you feel,” he repeated himself, his smirk growing into a full-blown smile, “then I truly did level up to a god.”

“Niiiiice,” she laughed out loud, her head falling back.

“It wasn’t _that_ funny,” he chuckled for a moment, but the humor ended quickly because every muscle in her body had tightened from her excessive laughing- EVERY muscle -one of which was particularly...gripping.

_Didn’t you say you “can’t level up to ‘god’ until book 3” to one of those nurses at Sig’s doctor’s appointment in May?_

_Did I?_

_Think so._

_Well then… mission accomplished._

Sliding his hand under her neck and into her hair, he lowered his mouth to the dip between her collarbone, which she’d so generously exposed to him by throwing her head back like that.

The tip of his tongue barely touched her skin before he closed his lips over it, and her laugh turned into a strained, quiet whine. She arched her neck further, her toes _already_ curling as his mouth moved closer to her jaw, teasing her with a bit more of his tongue in each kiss. Oh hell, she could feel him hardening again.

_And you thought he was “done” with you..._

“Oh fuck…” she whispered through her teeth, then he pulled away from her throat and lowered his face to hers.

Eyes closing as their parted lips met, he gripped her hair more tightly, determined to avoid an _anticlimactic_ night for her. Sure, she’d said that she was thrilled or he was otherworldly or what not, and he knew she wasn’t pretending, but… no. Just… no. His girl was going to get off, and he could make that happen in thirty more seconds. Guaranteed. Keeping his hand in her hair and his mouth on hers, he stretched his arm down to hook his elbow under her thigh, then leaned forward again, lifting her higher and draping her knee over his shoulder as more and more blasts of fireworks lit up the room faster and faster. Oh the _timing_. The finale was coming shortly.

 _NICE_.

Sigyn would have cried out, but his mouth was stifling her. His _entire body_ was stifling her, and it was hot as hell. Literally. She was breaking into a sweat around her temples and neck and chest. Clinging to his shoulder with one hand, she grabbed his face with the other, her thumb running along his jaw as he moved over her. The higher angle didn’t only let him push deeper. It let him slide his lower stomach _perfectly_ over the oh-so-good ache between her thighs.

_God. Almighty._

Her leg over his shoulder started shaking, and she stopped kissing him, no doubt looking slack-jawed and drugged. More blasts… again… again. Good lord, her room looked like someone had set up a goddamn strobe light across the street. The coil inside her was _so_ tight, and it was getting tighter by the millisecond.

“Oh god… oh god…” she bit into her lip, letting go of him to stretch her arms back behind her head and slam her palms against the wall, forcing him as far into her as possible as the first little random electric spasms hit her.

Feeling her start to twitch around him, Loki slipped his elbow out from under her leg, and reached over her to curl his fingers around hers. Gasping and pushing with everything he had, he watched her, ecstatic and overly proud of his _accomplishment_ , as her mouth fell open, her head fell back, and those random spasms turned into impossibly tight, evenly-spaced pulses that he hoped felt more explosive to her than that last round of absurdly loud blasts and pops and crackles and booms and flashes of light in every shade of the rainbow happening outside.

He bit into a smile, slowing his pace to a standstill as his girl floated back to the ground- or bed, in this case -from her own cloud nine Wonderland. A _good_ -trip Wonderland. A trip that did not include the red queen ordering her deck of _guards_ to decapitate you. Her arms went completely limp and would have fallen- possibly directly onto her face -if not for his hands holding hers against the wall still. Relaxing his grip, he gingerly brought her dead weight arms back down and set them around his neck. However, they slid right off, landing on the bedcover with a thud, and without opening her eyes, she sighed heavily, a grin spreading across her face.

Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “That good, hm?”

Still smiling, her tongue poked through her teeth, responding with something between a giggle and a drawn-out whistle. “Apparently.”

  
  
  


**_~ Several hours later, 8:52 am, January 1, 2020 ~_ **

Eyes fluttering open slowly, Sigyn squinted and put a hand over her eyes. She turned over, scowling a bit at the clock on her wall. She would have slept longer if not for the sunlight streaming through her window.

_DIRECTLY ON MY FACE._

She wasn’t really upset, though. No, she was so goddamn happy. If anyone had asked her yesterday if she would wake up next to _Starboy_ this morning, she would’ve called them crazy. Her hips and thighs were unbelievably sore, and god, she _loved_ it. Was he this sore, too? Doubtful. He was in too good of shape to be sore after a couple rounds of sex. Really good sex. Otherworldly sex. She bit her lip at the thought and turned over again, smiling wide, to get a look at the guy who’d taken her to the stars and back last night. Her smile fell immediately.

His spot was empty. He wasn’t there. Eyebrows pulling together, she sat upright and rubbed her eyes. Damn blurry morning vision. Surely, she was imagining that empty space next to her. When she pulled her hands away from her eyes, he still wasn’t there. The sheets were wrinkled, and if she squinted, she could make out the shape of his body. Eyes blowing wide and lip trembling, she pushed up off the bed.

The rug felt abnormally cold under her bare feet as she tip-toed around the bed, anxiously playing with the hem of her long, oversized, off-the-shoulder, grey sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed in pink block letters that she was “born in the 80s”. She chewed her lip, turning in a slow circle, eyeing every square inch of her room looking for any evidence of his presence. Up, down, left, right, shadows, highlights, dim corners, under, above. Keys? No. Phone? No. Wallet? No. Shirt? No. Boots? Socks? Pullover? Trousers? _Definitely_ not.

Nothing.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, switching from chewing her lip to chewing her thumbnail as she went into her living room, stepping around the space with less confidence than a kid playing “the floor is lava!”

Blinking at the burning in her eyes, she put both hands over her mouth. “No no no no no no no no no no no…”

_He left. He left me again._

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered behind her palms as several tears in quick succession tumbled down her cheeks.

She moved quickly then, scouring the place for a note or something. Where the bloody hell was it? Goddammit- there had to be one! Coffee table? Key table? Kitchen counter? On the fridge door? Couch? Under the cushion? Behind the wall painting over her TV?! No no no no no!!

“How can he do this to me?” she croaked, sinking down into her kitchen table chair. Oh god, she was just getting what she deserved, wasn’t she?

_Call him. Text him. Run to his building. DO SOMETHING._

Sniffling loudly, she pushed to her feet and walked back into her bedroom. She’d dropped her phone on her bed last night when Loki had picked her up and carried her to it.

_Then he fucked me twice._

_Then left me before the sun came up._

_Or after I fell asleep._

_Whenever that was._

_Either way, dear god, I would rather be dead right now._

Heartbreak was a terrible thing, wasn’t it- something that could make an otherwise healthy person think that no longer existing on this planet, but perhaps just… darkness… and the beauty of no longer thinking or feeling… was preferable to breathing. Oh god, maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she’d misinterpreted this, and was now seeing everything through the lens of a girl who had been-

Her phone chirped at her then, cutting off her despondent thoughts. Furrowing her brow, she scrambled to yank the sheets back. Where was it?

_Under your pillow, hon._

_Oh right._

Eyes rolling, she shook her head and grabbed her pillow, then tossed it behind her shoulder. Her little rectangular digital savior laid there, waiting for her to accept the hand that it had reached toward her after falling overboard for the thousandth time. Swiping it up from the mattress, she opened her texts, and let out a massive breath. A breath that left her light-headed and dopey because the “contact” who had texted her was “Loki Forever Dream Starboy Odinson”, and his picture had her reliving last night and aching to get lost with him all over again in those sheets that she’d just all but _destroyed_ to find her phone.

_As though you didn’t already want that..._

“Fuck, he’s perfect,” she breathed, swiping right to see his words.

**_Loki: Hey sweetheart. Did you get my note? I left it on my pillow. Well, technically it is YOUR pillow, but that’s neither here nor there. Maybe it fell off the bed or something. I won’t lie- I was trying to be romantic. Trying TOO HARD. Forgive this lovesick fool of a man, please. It said “meet me at Ground Support”. Will you please text me to let me know if/when you are headed this way?_ **

Feeling as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders, she blew out a breath and responded instantly.

**_Sigyn: Just woke up. I did not see your note, and… I’ll be honest… I have been freaking out ON A LEVEL. I am on my way right now. Love you to the stars and back._ **

Turning in a dizzying circle, her eyes roved over the floor of her bedroom, searching for a pair of trousers. She growled and hurried to her chest of drawers, yanking the second drawer from the top open and yanking it open to grab the first pair she saw. They happened to be black yoga pants with a rainbow stripe up the sides, and they were a little too tight, but at least the ankles fit easily into her boots. She dashed to her door, grabbing her crossbody purse from her key table as she ran out. Clumsily, she struggled to lock it, then ran down the stairs two at a time, which was surprisingly difficult. She nearly fell four times.

Out the building door, turn left, run to the first intersection, turn right on to West Broadway, hurry hurry hurry… dear god, run FASTER.

Breathing hard, her eyes widened a bit, and she slowed her steps as she crossed Spring Street and approached the best coffee shop on planet Earth. A sleek, glacier white F-type (eeeee-lectric white, as she called it) was parked on the street right next to Ground Support, and a stunner of a man was leaning against the hood, his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed. His black hair was pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck, and a pair of classic black Ray Ban Wayfarers sat on his nose. He flashed her a perfect smile as she approached him.

“Foot on the gas, sixth gear, 0 to 60, heart rate through that moonroof, I don’t know where the hell we’re going, but…” he pulled his sunglasses down and raised an eyebrow, “Feel like burning rubber with me, gorgeous girl? I caught you biting your lip when I pulled up to your building in these blacked out, ultra expensive, custom-made wheels. I’m a mess, but I swear you’ll love me. I’ll take you on the ride of your life. You’re too smart and far too well-read for me to teach you much of anything, but if you will just get in this goddamn car, I’ll show you how to live fast and die right.”

Dear god, she _actually_ burst into tears.

“Hell yes, Starboy,” she said, biting into a smile as she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Where are we going?”

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her, then pulled away and opened the door. “Get in.”

Clicking her seatbelt into place, she looked at him sideways as he pulled away from the curb and sped off down the deserted New Years Day 2020 street in New York City.

“Seriously, Loki,” she said, grinning ear to ear, “where are we going?”

He turned to look at her and shifted into fourth gear, anxious to get to sixth in the Lincoln Tunnel. “Does the destination really matter? Or is the ride itself that makes us who we are? That tells who we wish to spend the rest of our lives with? The rest of this _ride_ with?”

Reaching up to open the moonroof, even though it was absolutely freezing, he flashed her his famous “Starboy” smile, and she smiled back.

_You’re brighter than the sun, sweetheart._

“I don’t care where we go,” she replied, reaching over to take his hand. “As long as it’s with you, I’m good.”

Still smiling, he returned his eyes to the road. “To the stars, it is.”

Sigyn leaned her head back, shivering from the New Years Day cold coming through the moonroof, and smiled, even happier than she’d been on January 1st three years ago when she first fell into Loki Odinson’s arms.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Final Song for New Year, Same Habit (Not Over You)

_["I Will Always Be Yours" by Ben Rector](https://youtu.be/9iLX5WJ9GMo) _

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FINAL NOTES:

Saying goodbye to New Year, Same Habit ON our real-world New Year’s Eve at MIDNIGHT (New York City standard Eastern time) is one of the most bittersweet moments of my adult life. Perhaps that sounds dramatic (it is, I know), but this story has been my lifeline in 2020. I think most of us would agree that this year has been an absolute DISASTER of a year, and amidst all the pain and suffering, amidst lockdowns and the loss of physical touch, the loss of loved ones, the layoffs… oh my god, sometimes the only relief (psychologically) I found was in the favorite songs, films, and most of all, BOOKS. My god, the STORIES. I often wonder if I am the only one who felt this way.

This year shed a new light on all art forms for me. Oh, how poetic, in a painful yet cathartic manner, that in a year where the entire planet ground to a standstill, in a year where my mid-town streets in my 6-million-strong city felt and looked empty and DEAD, it was the stories, the previously made films, the local art gallery next door that I can only observe from behind their windows since it had to shut its doors, and hundreds of songs that were more ALIVE than ever for me. I’ve seen them, listened to them, or read them a hundred times, so, one would assume that they would affect me no differently than the previous hundred times. Not so. Somehow, those works of art MOVED and CHANGED and, oddly, BREATHED, as though they’d taken the place of the hundreds of people stuck indoors who I used to pass on the sidewalk while walking or biking to work, to lunch, to grab a coffee, to the park, or dinner dates. Much like that art, writing THIS story inspired me in NEW ways, shined a light on NEW ideas, and gave me NEW insights, as though this imaginary world was the only sunlight in the dark reality of this 2020 orbit around our sun. It helped me (and maybe you, dear reader- most likely from multiple stories from multiple authors) KEEP GOING when just getting out of bed was a monumental task.

As I write this final note for you all (and myself), I’ve already written the end of this story; for Loki and Sig, 2020 has only just begun. I won’t write their 2020 for them, but I envision them in real world New York, pushing through this past year, trying to support each other and be lights for each other when their "city that never sleeps" feels dark and empty. Loki said "don't let me down, 2020" and even though I WANT to continue his story, to show _exactly_ how this past year would have treated him, I also don't want to force his future to go one way or another. I'll leave it in my head, and I'll let everyone who read New Year, Same Habit envision the rest of Loki and Sig’s lives however they want to. I do not want to say goodbye to Starboy or his Sunlight Girl, but I take solace in knowing that this story will live in someone else's mind as well as mine, affecting them in different ways than it has affected me, at different TIMES than it has affected me; that makes it NEW every day. 

Farewell, 2020. You've been goddamn awful to a tragic amount of the world, but I'll give you credit for this- the pain reminded me not to take the people I love for granted. I think Loki and Sig would say the same. They would also say this: Here's to 2021 and the yet-to-be-written stories that it will bring us. Happy New Year, everyone.

Take care, stay safe, stay alive, and stay wonderful,

Jen


End file.
